


The Knights of Fodlan

by ReynaAtTheEnd



Series: Verdant Moon, Azure Winds [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Gen, Not In Chronological Order, One Shot Collection, Side Story, covers past and present events, runs side by side with the main story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 41,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21922090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReynaAtTheEnd/pseuds/ReynaAtTheEnd
Summary: Contrary to what some of the more romanticized operas might lead one to believe, the Savior King, Master Tactician and Queen of Liberation did not win the War for Fodlan single-handedly. Their dearest knights, friends and family were there from the beginning, observing and playing crucial roles in what came to pass.Side stories and missing moments.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Marianne von Edmund, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Bernadetta von Varley
Series: Verdant Moon, Azure Winds [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561672
Comments: 227
Kudos: 246





	1. Jeralt

“Hey Sitri.”

He could almost imagine her turning at the sound of his voice, green hair tossing in the wind, smiling brightly despite him inevitably distracting her from whatever hobby was the focus of her attention that evening. She had many, from tending to fauna to horseback riding to painting; she always seemed to be preoccupied no matter the day, the time, or the storm. It had fascinated him, how she lived such a busy and fulfilling life despite never leaving the monastery. Even when she went out to ride, she never left the lands, and even when she spoke curiously of the Kingdom, the Empire or the Alliance, leaving Garreg Mach to visit never seemed to be an option.

“I know it's been a while...sorry about that. This is a hard place to sneak into for the occasional visit.”

Jeralt sat crossed legged in front of her grave, placing fresh flowers just below the inscription denoting her name and date of death. It had always been hard to look at, yet coming back now, seeing it for the first time in years...the pain felt unexpectedly fresh.

When they'd brought those brats back, and he'd stepped through the doors to the main courtyard...for a split second, he could have sworn he saw her. Standing in that one spot where she'd always waited for him upon his return from Rhea's missions, flowers in her hair, waving impatiently as ever. But the blink of an eye whisked the image away; there was nothing waiting for him here but uncertainty and his own secrets.

“I should have brought Byleth with me, I know. Unfortunately she's currently distracted by these brats she rescued.” He chuckled. “You always said that there's no such thing as coincidences, but I think even you'd be flabbergasted by this turn of events.”

He rolled his neck and started the story from the beginning, including the bizarre dream Byleth had woken from that very morning. She always loved it when he told her stories.

“ _You did NOT,” Sitri gasped out in-between bouts of laughter. Alois grinned sheepishly and ducked under his mimed blow. Yeah yeah, laugh at your boss now you crazy teenager – you didn't think it was so funny in the moment!_

“ _Well how was I supposed to know the smart-assed blonde who was so determined to tell me how to do my job was the bloody Crown Prince of Faerghus?” He complained, trying – and failing – to make himself sound aggrieved. Getting her to laugh was worth a world of annoyance. “Blonde hair and blue eyes aren't_ that _rare in combination!”_

 _Sitri rocked back in her seat, her shoulders shaking as she attempted to regain control of her giggles. “Maybe,” She gasped out,“b-but a tall blonde-haired, blue eyed young man with high cheek bones, armed with a_ forged brave lance _, who was irritating you by recklessly running to the rescue of the peasants? Who was he supposed to_ be _, if not Lambert Joshua Blaiddyd?!”_

“ _Literally anyone else!” He protested. “I don't care how 'distinctive' the Blaiddyd features are supposed to be, he didn't have the damned royal regalia! Or an escort, for that matter! There wasn't even a single household knight to be seen! Just him and his academy friend!”_

“ _Who is the soon-to-be Lord Fraldarius!” Sitri fired back, trying to look sympathetic for a couple of seconds before her face broke into a grin again. “Goddess have mercy on you, Jeralt,_ I _could have told you who he was before he used his Crest!”_

“ _You have access to the painted lineage trees. That's cheating,” He retorted, taking a shot from his mug to hide his grin._

 _She mockingly stuck her nose in the air. “_ Some _of us have decent memory. How do you intend to enjoy historical success as Captain of the Knights if you can't even recognize one of the most important people on the continent?!”_

“ _By getting into these ridiculous situations early on, apologizing, and thus ensuring I never forget again,” He responded sarcastically. Alois looked as though he was torn between praising the idea like a good little apprentice and joining Sitri in her bemusement._

“ _So how long did he leave you squirming before he informed you that all was forgiven?” She demanded, bringing her chair down with a light_ clack _as she put her elbows on the table and stared meaningfully at him, green hair falling down her elegant shoulders like a shawl. “I assume all_ is _forgiven, seeing as you aren't lamenting yet another debt.”_

_He sighed heavily; this immediately set her off in a fresh bout at his expense. She knew exactly what that meant. “He was a surprisingly good sport about the whole thing...decided I could apologize by paying for the drinks.” He felt his eye twitch. “If that's him being merciful, I'm not sure I'd wish him in a temper on my worst enemy.”_

_Sitri had a raucous laugh for such a delicate-looking woman. Infectious, too; several of the nearby maids started giggling along with her, despite only being tangentially listening to the conversation. “Oh, so his Crest also shields him from the perils of alcohol?” She choked out, too beside herself to apply her usual sarcasm to the line he'd used to justify his constant drinking._

“ _It was more universal than I thought,” He grumbled. “Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius can drink_ far _too much for someone with a slender constitution! It took him six damned mugs before he was even_ slightly _tipsy! Don't even get me_ started _on Blaiddyd, a couple of drinks and he started_ singing; _and he actually has a decent voice for it except his words started slurring together before too long.” He glared at Alois. “All of which might have been manageable if_ someone _who shall remain nameless hadn't decided to accept a drinking contest on top of that!”_

“ _What was I supposed to do when the Prince of Faerghus invited me?!” His personal project/nuisance protested. “Say no?! When am I ever going to get another chance like that, Captain?”_

“ _Plenty, if we can't crack those damned Inheritors of Heaven,” Jeralt muttered, the words inaudible to all but himself. Out loud, he said, “I'm so glad you were considerate of our bloody budget; we could barely pay the stables on our way out_ and _the church won't cover the difference.”_

“ _I didn't realize Lady Rhea was obliged to cover your drinking habits,” Sitri giggled, smiling sweetly at him. “Perhaps having to choose whether to have a weapon for your next sortie or your love of drinking will provide you with a little sense! Ah, I shall have to write the prince a nice letter if it is only so.”_

_He made a show of grumbling and refrained from commenting on the likelihood of her hopes in favor of admiring her shining eyes. Really, the thing that annoyed him the most about this little adventure was that it set back the savings he'd intended to put aside to purchasing land. Oh, he didn't think she'd turn him down for not being titled and landed, but the future he wanted with her involved a small farm, a child or two and maybe a cat. A small, peaceful existence._

_This wasn't the end of the world, though. He'd make up the difference in no time._

“Yup, it was Lambert's kid. Yes, it did take me far longer than it should have to realize it. Yes, I can hear you laughing at me, so stop it. I hadn't seen the king in...well. Far too long.” He looked up at the sky. “Looking at the portraits, Dimitri resembles him so closely it's a little startling. He hardly got anything from his mother. He's a good kid; maybe a bit overly serious and formal, but he's polite and humble, and that's more than you can say for a lot of nobles.”

He chuckled. “Haven't seen much of Rodrigue's boy, but first impressions say he's kind of a brat. Granted, he has good reason to have a chip on his shoulder, what with his brother's death...” he sighed. “But let's not go there. I'm sure Lambert's talking your ear off as it is.”

“This place hasn't change much since I left. I even recognize a number of people; Rhea certainly takes care of her own...for the most part.”

He leaned back. “Anyway, between him, the Imperial Princess, and the new Duke – and I'll admit, I have a theory about why this kid wasn't recognized as legitimate until after the last duke's 'accident' – Byleth wasn't spoiled for attention on the way back. I think she was about as confused as she ever gets by it all. Particularly the Princess's very unsubtle attempts at recruiting her.”

He smirked. “I can almost see the look in your eye. No, I doubt it's like that; Byleth saved her from certain doom, and that tends to get people enamored with your existence.” He imagined her response and chuckled. “You read too many romantic fables, you know that?”

“ _Oh...you shouldn't have...” She carefully took the rose from him, the stem carefully pruned of thorns, and slid it behind her ear. He focused on trying not the shuffle under her stare, and not to look over at the book sitting innocently on her bedside desk lest it give him away. “How have I never seen you in the greenhouse?”_

“ _It wouldn't have been much of a surprise if you caught me, would it?” He asked. She cocked an eyebrow, and he smiled sheepishly. “Maya helped me.”_

_Sitri mumbled something that sounded vaguely like 'of course she did', but he wasn't certain. He also could have sworn he saw a soft, pretty blush rise to her cheeks.“How did you know I was longing for it? These seeds come from eastern Fodlan...”_

“ _Well...I figured I couldn't go wrong with the merchants that come in from the south every spring. I've seen you buying from them plenty of times before.”_

_Her eyes sparkled. “Is that right?” She stepped back and spun in a circle. “How do I look?”_

_Like a princess, he thought but didn't say. “Radiant, as always.”_

_She put her hands on her hips and smiled at him. “You_ can _be charming, Jeralt Reus Eisner. So you'll be happy to help me in the garden now?”_

_He really should have seen that coming, and managed a weak grin. “If that makes you happy.”_

“She looks like you,” He murmured, brushing his fingers against the carving of her name. “I'll admit, half the reason I taught her to fight was that I was worried she'd draw the wrong eyes. I..didn't expect her to get so good at it.” He sighed. “Rhea made her a professor. Not a student, a professor – gave her a job teaching other kids barely a few years her junior.”

“As for me...I'm back in the knights. Reinstated as Captain, even. Honestly, I was surprised, and I think she's trying to butter me up after all that's happened. She knows I don't want to be here.” He sighed. “Alois is still around; probably should have seen that coming. It's amazing how little he's changed...if it wasn't for actually seeing him fighting on his own the last few missions, I would have thought he hadn't aged at all.”

He looked up at the sky. “Byleth likes gardening, just as you did...well, as much as she enjoys anything.”

“I wish I knew what Rhea had done that night. I wish I hadn't been away when you were giving birth. I wish I knew...anything.” He lowered his head. “I've done as best as I can, raising her, but I can't help but feel you would have known better. Done better. My parents had never had much use for me, after all. I've done as best I can...I hope that's enough.”

He hesitated. There were voices coming from the pathway above the graveyard. He turned towards it and listened.

“...really devoted and honest. But I wouldn't mind never having to hear about his 'noble obligations' ever again.” That was Riegan, wasn't it? The kid was chatty enough for his voice to be easily recognized.

“Is that right?” Byleth's response drifted down, the uncertain cadence that she used when wondering whether or not she should try to laugh or not.

“He'll surprise you, I promise.” Jeralt could just barely see the pair's shadows as they walked past the stairs, hovering close to each other. “Then there's Lysithea. She's the daughter of Count Ordelia, and the youngest student enrolled in the academy. But look out! She gets _angry_ if you treat her like a child...as for me? I do it on purpose. You gotta make your own fun in this place.”

Byleth let out a startled sputter – the closest she came to laughing – which prompted the future duke to laugh himself. They walked on without pausing, Riegan continuing to regale her with tales of his classmates as they moved out of his hearing range.

Jeralt wondered if the noble brat was actually interested in gaining Byleth as a friend, or if he was just savvier than the princess in how to woo a potential asset to his side. But no matter his motives...the sad fact was that this was probably the friendliest welcome his daughter had gotten anywhere.

“I might need to keep an eye on that particular brat,” He said to the grave. “I of all people know how dangerous a smile can be."

“ _So where are you going?” Sitri shifted slightly in her chair, looking ruefully down at her large stomach. “You said you wouldn't be gone long, but I haven't heard of any local unrest.”_

“ _The Empire is complaining about civil unrest,” Jeralt replied as he buckled on his armor. “Which usually means the lower castes are throwing rocks because the harvest was bad, food supplies are running low, and the nobles haven't noticed because they've pocketed the lion's share of it. If that's all it is, hopefully we'll get there in time to calm things and hand out supplies before there's blood on the streets.”_

“ _I certainly hope so,” Sitri said sourly. “At least there shouldn't be much danger either way, at least for you.”_

“ _Of course not.” He walked across the room and placed his hands on hers. “I'll be back before you know it. Hey, what can I get you while I'm settling things? There are some treats and dresses you can't find anywhere outside the Empire.”_

_She laughed sweetly and replied, “Buy our daughter a book and avoid drinking everyone in the local bar under the table and that will be enough for me.”_

“ _It could be a boy,” He remarked, placing a hand on her stomach._

“ _It's a girl,” She responded with complete confidence._

“ _Alright then.” He chuckled. “I'll go find a copy of Stardust.” He kissed her forehead. “I'll be back in a month, just you wait.”_

“I did get that book, in the end.” He murmured. “Though it ended up buried in the bottom of my trunk. It pained me so much to look at it, and she didn't seem to have much interest in stories...but...” He sighed. “I think now's the time. It wasn't right of me to put all my memories of you away because their presence hurt me. I'll give to her once she's settled into her new job.”

He stood up slowly. “I'll bring her to see you soon. ...Goodbye, Sitri.”

There was whisper on the wind that might have been her laugh. Being back at the monastery was making him see ghosts...he gave the grave a final look before walking back the way he came.


	2. Hannah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannah reminisces about her past and her present as a member of Jeralt's Mercenaries.

Hannah divided her life into two segments – Before and After she met Jeralt Reus Eisner and his daughter. She thought about Before as little as possible; there were good times in those memories, but they were poisoned by the bad ones, and she had quickly come to be of the opinion that one should live for the moment and the moment alone. It was the only thing in the world that you were guaranteed to have, after all.

It was a little problematic that Remire had so many places within it that triggered memories of Before. They all owed this town a debt; Jeralt's girl had been wracked with fever when they stumbled through the gates in a great rainstorm, low on funds and morale, trapped between jobs. Yet the woman behind the desk at the inn had taken one look at the pale, shivering teenager lying in Jeralt's arms and gave her a room free of charge; the rest of them got half price. The local miller's daughter had helped Falrie root out the infection worsening Byleth's condition; a scar on her leg that they'd managed to overlook after the last fight, and cleaned her up. The farmers had offered them fruit from the peach trees and Noa as gifts to get her through her illness. It was kindest any town had ever treated the cursed girl, and Hannah knew how much that meant to Captain Jeralt.

So they kept coming back here. And honestly, there was nothing to complain about. Hannah knew most of the farmers and children by name, and they were a warm, welcoming bunch. They could always count on being able to put up there feet here, to rest and recuperate after long marches.

...But every time she turned a corner here, despite her efforts, she would see something that reminded her of Before. Even though that past was dead and gone, and only a willful mercenary remained, those memories plagued her, because they always brought her back to that day.

“You look like you're thinking hard, Hannah. Silver for your troubles?” Falrie asked. Hannah blinked and smiled apologetically at the older woman; she was _supposed_ to be helping her finish up the laundry, not dwelling on useless thoughts.

“Sorry,” She smiled sheepishly. “It's irrational.”

“We live in an irrational world,” Falrie responded easily, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain. “I spent three years taking confessions, my friend. There's nothing you can say that would make me look down on you.”

“...I used to live in a village like this,” Hannah sighed, finishing folding the shirt she'd held in her hands. “It was about this size, not too close or too far from anywhere important. Even though I was born in the kingdom, every time we end up here I see something that looks familiar.”

“Do you wish you could go back?”

“There's nothing to go back to.”

“...I see.” Falrie said gently. “How is Morgana's wing, by the way? You two took a pretty nasty tumble in the last fight.”

“It's healing just fine,” Hannah answered with a smile, seizing on the conversation change. “She's sulking of being grounded, but in another day or two it'll be like nothing happened. Gustav is looking after her and the horses right now.”

The medic's lips twitched upward into a soft smile. “He can be gentle when he desires, can't he?”

Hannah smirked back. “There something you want to tell me, Falrie?”

“Oh, hush,” Her fellow mercenary scoffed, flicking soapy water at her. Hannah playfully 'ducked' and grabbed the rest of the dry laundry to carry it off. “I hope someday you have an inkling of what sort of feelings you're joking about, my friend!”

“That'll be the day!” Hannah yelled back, grinning as she swept out of the basement. _The day indeed. I like looking at men as much as anyone else, but I've felt absolutely no urge to chase one. Maybe I have high standards or whatever, but I'm perfectly content with my friends and Jeralt's girl being my sole concern and my sole charges._ She trotted up the stairwell and made her way to the 'living room' where Juno, Robb and Hugo were lounging on the sofa, trading tavern jokes and laughing. Hugo raised a glass in her direction when he spotted her and waved toward the free chair across from him.

“...but I don't even have a horse!” Robb finished, grinning. Juno absolutely _howled_ , collapsing back against the couch and slapping her knee. Looking at the scarred raven-haired woman and hearing her raucous laugh, you would never believe that she had once been a noble. When her parents had arranged her to marry a much older man in the name of her giving birth to children with his Crest, she had fled in the middle of the night and run until she collapsed on the side of the road where Byleth had found her during an early morning hunt. Captain Jeralt took her in, and Juno threw herself into learning how to fight with her fists. In no time at all, the woman had transformed herself into one of the deadliest war masters Hannah had met.

“That is so bad, it loops back around to being hilarious,” Hugo snickered, while Hannah dropped the laundry on the table and sank into the chair, taking the last wine glass and pouring generously for herself.

“What's the joke, I missed it,” Hannah said, tossing her hair over her shoulder and taking a sip.

“Ah, I've got a better one now that you're here darlin'” Robb said with a wink. Hannah flipped him off, making him laugh. “Shall I let it rip?”

“Don't torment our pretty pegasus princess with your excuse for jokes, Robb,” Juno goaded, flashing Hannah a smirk. That was an in-joke between them now; Juno had first called her that sarcastically when Captain Jeralt presented a plan that had the two of them posing as nobles in order to get into a party where their client's stolen goods were being fenced. She hadn't been convinced that the new girl, who had been a peasant most of her life, would be able to pull off the role under pressure. However, when the party devolved into a brawl due to circumstances outside their control and Hannah ended up beating two men into submission with her high heels, the epithet had promptly turned into Juno's affectionate nickname for her.

“Yes, I prefer something a _little_ classy. It's called having standards,” Hannah said mock-seriously, leaning backward.

“Oiye, we're mercenaries! Doesn't that mean we're allowed to have 'lower standards'?” Robb complained. He was the closest Jeralt's Mercenaries had to a second-in-command, having been the first person to meet the Captain after he left his old life and having seniority over the rest of them. He was a 'hero', changing between swords and axes in a fight as easily as breathing. Hannah often flew above him during fights, providing him covering fire with her bow while he cut his way through whoever was foolish enough not to break and run at the sight of them. He was a strategist and a sharp-tongued guy who loved a good joke.

“Having standards is what separates us from the glory seekers, Robb!” Hugo retorts semi-jokingly, tossing his drink back and finishing it off. He used to be a noble as well, but he left his family under less traumatic circumstances than Juno had. His younger sister was born with an old Crest, and he left to make his own fortune so his status as the male firstborn wouldn't interfere with her ascension. As far as he saw, his sister was competent, intelligent and actually savvy in the ways of the political game, so she was much better suited to the role than him – Crest or nor Crest. He was one of the older men in the troupe, with only Gustav and Jeralt claiming seniority over him. But age hadn't damaged his marksmanship yet; he was a bow knight of considerable caliber.

“Please, someone tell me a _good_ joke. I'm craving a distraction,” Hannah said semi-seriously; Juno understood immediately, Robb and Hugo looked a little curious but knew better than to ask.

Robb, however, is a gentlemen in spite of what his demeanor might lead one to believe, and he immediately set about recalling a comedy sketch he'd seen on the road some years ago. His memory for those kinds of things is frankly amazing, and Hannah was always grateful when he broke one out. And she was careful to remember not to drink anything when he got going.

She was laughing in no time; shaking and cackling and letting the humor in the room drive her memories back. They were oddly and disturbingly persistent throughout this visit; why was that? Was it because it had been ten years to the day today? She did her best to focus, not to dwell, to think back to the many fights where they'd had each other's back.

_I'm safe here. I will never be powerless again. I'll never watch as someone I love is taken away from me, unable to do anything but cower. I'll never have to face the threat of the end alone; not ever again._

They ran the jug dry after a while, and Hugo – as he often did when he overindulged – promptly fell asleep on the couch. Robb and Juno waved her off when she went to put him to bed (as she was so often relegated to doing when the boys got drunk in the aftermath of a successful mission. Byleth helped) and picked him up between them before beginning to make their way back to the room. Hannah picked up the jug and made her way down to the kitchen, humming the ironic show tune that served as the heart of the last joke.

The floorboards creaked loudly as she thumped across the hall and down the stairs, pushing the door to the inn's kitchen open. She was blasted with hot air and the smell of roasted pheasant, which made her smile; Erin always made the best roasts. The plump older woman rolled her eyes fondly when Hannah sidestepped past her and placed the jug in the sink. “Haven't you told that lot that they're going to obliterate their livers if they aren't careful?” She half-asked, half-complained, because she was a mother and couldn't help but extend her worrying tendencies to the group that were so often her guests.

“You want me to tell the Captain to stop drinking? You'd have better luck demolishing the old broken wall by screaming at it,” Hannah responded dryly, grabbing a scraper and setting to work on the sink full of dishes.

“Oh leave that, dearie, how many times must I remind you that you are our _guests?_ ” Erin harrumphed, though she didn't turn away from the boiling pot she was managing.

“I can't sleep at night if I don't contribute,” Hannah responded plaintively, playing it up a bit. It was true that she disliked being a charity case, but the other reason was a bit more personal. “Besides, I'm good at this. I'll be done before you know it.”

Erin sighed dramatically but didn't made no further protests; they were quickly joined in the work by her two children, Micah who was now old enough to help his father in the fields, and Miria who so loved her sweets. Both children zipped back and forth at their mother's instructions after a few token complaints, Micah helping prepare the food while Miria dried and put away the dishes that Hannah finished. It cut the time the tasks required in half, and Hannah found herself sent out to collect her non-inebriated fellows to come and eat some late dinner.

Falrie and Gustav weren't hard to find; they were together (as was to be expected) in Garland's back yard, helping him prune the Noa bushes. Garland wasn't an old man, but he'd had a nasty fall from his horse since the last time they'd visit, so his nephews (and now the mercenaries) were doing their best to support him keeping the gardens in good shape.

(Gustav was a man who tricked the eyes; he was huge, broad-shouldered, taller than even Captain Jeralt, and built like an Almyran wyvern master. Yet he was the gentlest soul Hannah had ever met, with a soft spot for animals and children alike. She wondered if the goddess had meant for him to walk a different path, only for the mortal world to interfere.)

Fredrick, Alma and Diana took time to track down. The former was at the well, and the latter two were sparring just outside the town gates. Justine, meanwhile, was teaching the children the myths of Asch, god of war and ruin, and through these tales impressing on them the value of both the sword and the peace that blades were made to win. It was a mark of how welcoming Remire was that a few of the parents were sitting nearby, listening themselves, without a single cry of 'heresy'.

(Justine was a bit of an oddball for an Almyran – so she always said, anyhow. She'd more or less recruited herself after their last stint in that country, saying something about the future being in motion and the dead god of war was breathing through the cracks in the earth. Hannah wasn't sure if that was a Mortal Savant thing or she actually had visions of the future, but no matter the reason, listening to Justine's grim certainties about the days to come disturbed her.)

She was making her way around the outside of the village, looking for the last few stragglers, when she walked past something that caught her eye. A wooden cross, with flowers lovingly wreathed around it.

It wasn't the same. It couldn't be. But it looked so similar that all of Hannah's muscles simultaneously locked up, freezing her in place.

_The man was dressed well, and he had knights with him. But there was no warmth in his eyes, not like Lord Fraldarius when he had visited them months ago. His gaze was coldly calculated with a spark of something that was hot and greedy, and it lingered on her sister no matter who he was speaking to._

_Hannah was hiding in the bushes, obeying her mother's command, listening to the words the lord spoke but unable to make any sense out of them. A bridal price? But Mana was too young to marry, that's what father said. Surely he would have mentioned if she was going to sent off to marry a lord's son in a few years. That would make them happy, wouldn't it?_

_Her father shook his head animatedly, repeating his refusal. Too young. No proof of a Crest. Mana was simply gifted in magic; brilliant, yes, but she had no hero's blood in her._

_The more he said that, the angrier the lord looked..._

“Hannah?”

_The lord sat back in his saddle and whistled. His knights moved forward and grabbed Mana by the arm, hoisting her up into his horse's saddle. She shrieked in alarm, and her father ran forward, yelling angrily. Her mother moved to help him, but several of the townsfolk – they had all formed a circle around the house, watching the confrontation take place – surrounded her and held her back._

_The other knight kicked his horse's side, and it reared up and kicked her father in the head. He collapsed like a puppet who's strings had broken; Mana screamed, the noise fading away as the knight holding her secure turned and began to trot away. The lord dropped a sack on the cobblestone road, silver coins spilling out of the loose opening. Then he too turned and left._

A cold hand touched her arm. “Hannah!”

Byleth's voice sounded like was coming from far away. Hannah blinked and shook her head, a ragged gasp breaking free of her throat as though she was surfacing from deep beneath the ocean. She looked around through blurry eyes for a few frantic seconds before her eyes found the Captain's girl, standing to the side, grasping her just above the wrist.

Her expression was serene and level as ever, but it seemed to the blonde-haired pegasus rider in that moment that the stoic teenager was worried about her – at least, as much as she was able to feel such things.

“Sorry,” She managed after getting control of her throat. “I...got lost inside of my own head.”

Byleth blinked, tilting her head a bit. She looked down at the cross. “Did you know him?” She asked, a slight frown on her face.

“No.” _Breathe, just focus on breathing..._ “It just – just made me think of a different grave.”

The blue-haired girl slowly nodded in comprehension. “Do you feel sick?” She asked. “Dinner is ready. If you can't eat, I'll tell father.”

“I just...need a bit. Need to go and sit somewhere for a moment.”

Byleth looked at her for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I'll go with you.” Toneless as ever...yet comforting in spite of that nonetheless. Hannah nodded jerkily in acceptance and let Byleth lead her for the first minute, until her legs finally unlocked.

The teen lead her down the road over to the well, which was abandoned by all but a few for now since most everyone else had gone to get dinner. Byleth sat on the edge of the stone bench and looked attentively at Hannah who sank bonelessly down next to her, still focusing on her breathing.

Byleth didn't let go of her arm until Hannah's breath finally came out in even gasps. She looked up, her vision coming back into focus to see the teen giving her a patient and attentive look. “It was a long time ago,” She mumbled. “Do you remember? You came and helped me bury my father.”

That was met with two blinks, and then a nod of understanding.

“I wonder where Mana is. I wonder if she's okay or if she's even alive. She didn't have a Crest, you know? It was just rumors; because – because she had more magical potential than anyone else in the village, they – they assumed she _had_ to have one. Or else how could she do all of those incredible things?” Hannah took a shaky breath, her stomach twisting itself into a terrible knot. “But that man, he wouldn't listen, he believed them, and the others wouldn't stand behind father when he said no...”

“Do you remember which Lord it was?”

Hannah knew that if she ever did, and told Byleth, the teen would think nothing of finding the man and slitting his throat. And possibly kill most or all of his knights in the bargain. “No. I'm not sure I ever heard his name.” _And I would want to kill him myself._

“She might be alright,” Byleth said unexpectedly. “If he thought she had a Crest, he would have shown her off at all the public functions. The other lords he networks with would become suspicious if they never saw her again after that. Faerghus abhors violence against women much more strongly than the Empire.” Which was part of the reason Juno took her chances running out into the unknown without so much as a knife to protect her rather than go to her wedding.

“...I hope so,” Hannah admitted quietly. “Thanks, kid.”

Byleth nodded in response, saying nothing more. After a few quiet minutes, she lead a calmer Hannah into the inn for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's easy to forget, but Jeralt and Byleth run with an actual mercenary company. It's a bit of a shame that the rest of the group is never mentioned, because it would have been sweet for there to be a quick cutscene revealing that they kept coming back to the monastery in hopes of Byleth reappearing after the time skip.
> 
> Hannah appeared enough times in-story that her backstory abruptly burst into existence in my mind, so I figured she'd make a good POV character for this oneshot where the mercenaries are resting in Remire village. It's both to give a good idea of why Jeralt says they 'owe a debt' to the people of Remire, and to give a little insight into the people Byleth has mentioned in passing.
> 
> Also yes, Robb and Hugo were the two mercenaries Dimitri and Claude met at the gate when they were running from Kostas and friends. This takes place a few weeks before that little incident.


	3. Felix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix looses his brother, and then finds him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felix is a mess of feelings, despite what he tries to display. It's fun to write from his perspective.

“ _Why can't I go with you?”_

_He knew he was pouting, but he couldn't help it; his brothers were going to a celebration and he was being left behind, again. So what if he wasn't as good with a sword as Glenn was? He could still fight if something went wrong!_

_Glenn smiled slightly, reaching over and ruffling his hair. “Someone has to stay and watch over the house while I'm away. That's the division of duty between us, right? I guard Dimitri, and your guard our home.”_

“ _He's my friend too,” He said rebelliously, furiously telling himself that he wouldn't cry, wouldn't cry at being left behind._

_Glenn's hand dropped down to the hilt of the Sword of Moralta as he pondered how to soothe his hurt feelings. One of the two family treasures, along with the Aegis Shield; a gift to their ancestor Renata Fraldarius from Saint Macuil that she wielded during the final battle against Nemesis. For his older brother to be given it to wield so young was a great honor – but that was Glenn all over. He was a genius, a shooting star._

_Felix wanted to be like him more than anything. How could he do that if he was left behind again like this?_

“ _Hey,” Glenn pulled him into a hug. Felix squirmed for a moment before surrendering, burying his head in his brother's shoulder. “It's only going to be for a couple of weeks. I'll be back before you know it.” He held him by the shoulders and grinned. “Besides, in two more years you could be right here next to me.”_

“ _It'll be one year,” He retorted confidently._

“ _Hah! One and a half, maybe.” His brother teased, messing with his hair again. Felix flailed at him indigently, much to the amusement of their father._

“ _The carriage won't wait forever, Glenn!” Rodrigue said, walking out of the castle with Sylvain and Ingrid at his heels. He placed his hands on his older son's shoulders, warm pride glowing in his eyes. “Aquit yourself with honor...listen to and respect the Duscur elders.”_

“ _Have I ever let you down?” Glenn asked playfully. Then he nodded at Sylvain. “Watch after Felix for me, alright Sylvain?” He smiled slyly. “Or maybe I should ask him to look out for you.”_

“ _C'mon Glenn! You can trust me,” The redhead whined._

_Glenn rolled his eyes affectionately, stepping around his father and taking Ingrid's hands in his. “Shall I bring you something back from Duscur, Ingrid?” He asked, his expression softening with affection. “I doubt I'll have to walk very far to find an elder selling their bronze and emerald bracelets.”_

“ _I would love that,” Ingrid said, blushing prettily. She always did that when Glenn turned on the charm. Swore up and down that she was the luckiest girl in Faerghus._

_Glenn lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her hand. “I'll see you in time, my lady,” he said warmly._

_With that, he turned and walked down the stone pathway toward the carriage that would right behind the royal transport._

_Felix chased that back in his nightmares, right before everything burst into flames._

* * *

Felix cursed, kicking the maddened villager in the face several times. “You were impaled through the shoulder! Go down, damn it!” _I can't afford to stab you again if I want you to have a chance of survival,_ he thought but didn't say. The man was in no state to understand.

Bernadetta squeaked, flinching at every impact until the man gurgled and finally – mercifully – passed out. Nevertheless, she kept as his back, her bow panning the grounds around them for other foes.

A warm spike of admiration hit his chest. It was a strange, aggravating, _increasingly familiar_ feeling. How did she do it? How did she flip from being a frightened little mouse to a fearless warrior in the blink of an eye? Where did she find the strength you would swear blind she didn't possess if you had to try and drag her out of her room to attend breakfast?

Felix did his best to shove that thought out of his mind; he knelt and slid the rope Captain Jeralt had handed him off his shoulder. Quickly he bound the man's arms behind his back as tightly as he could, then bound his ankles together so he wouldn't be able to flail around much should he regain consciousness unexpectedly.

The noise of the battle was dwindling; this nightmare was almost over. _Nightmare is a good word for it. Screaming, foaming villagers who lost their minds? Mages in black robes who speak a strange, unknowable language? This is something out of one of Ashe's books. This...isn't something I was trained for._

Unease prickled at his stomach. Quickly he grabbed the man, straightening up and throwing his defeated opponent over his shoulder; quickly he cast around for someone to hand him off to. Thankfully Bernadetta was already flagging down one of Jerat's mercenaries for him; a huge bear of a man wielding a mace. He nodded tersely at Felix as he accepted the villager.

Felix didn't begrudge him this. He knew these people. This village was the closest the mercenaries had to a home. He'd be in a ballistic rage if he returned to the Fraldarius territory to find it on fire and its inhabitants driven to a mad frenzy.

“Eeek!” Bernadetta squeaked, causing him to whirl around. Another black-cloaked mage was approaching them.

He didn't have to do anything, however, because Bernadetta raised and shot her bow; her arrow instantly split into dozens of ghostly duplicates. The mage might have dodged the first, physical arrow, but he couldn't dodge all of them – not even with the help of the brush. He dropped like a stone.

Felix snorted, ignoring the jolt in his heartbeat which was slowing down now. “Why do you shriek when you have everything under control?” He asked her out of genuine curiosity.

“I...um...” Bernadetta shuffled her feet, ducking her head and blushing. “R-Reflex?”

“...Makes sense,” He mused. “You haven't done much fighting before entering the Officer's Academy; that much is obvious.”

Turning around, Felix saw a glowing pink-red light flash brightly against the burnt windmill, shoot up towards the sky and vanish. He frowned, _what was that? ...It reminds me of something, but I can't quite – oh, hellfire and damnation._ The Death Knight had disappeared that way from the Holy Masoleum. _They got away._ _ **Again.**_ _Cowards!_

“O-Oh! The professor...l-let's go find the professor!” Bernadetta said anxiously, grabbing his wrist and trying to tug him forward. She stumbled forward a step, but didn't move any further without him, instead turning and staring back at him with wide, imploring eyes. “W-what if she's hurt?”

“She could defeat the likes of these cutthroats with her eyes closed,” Felix scoffed. He meant it; he couldn't remember anyone except Glenn having a mastery of the sword like her. “Try not to worry so much.”

Yet he let her pull him along nevertheless. The battle was pretty much over, anyway...besides, he should check to make sure that Byleth was holding up. She probably had an attachment to this place.

So he followed the purple-haired girl that made him so curious across the burnt fields up toward the damaged windmill. A couple of familiar figures were standing at the foot of the stairwell; Byleth, Claude, a girl in a black cloak – Felix tensed up a bit, but her hood was down, and she had planted her sword in the ground. She wasn't starting a fight. And the last one -

The last one -

He was standing with his back to Felix, long, messy dark blue hair plastered against his neck by sweat.

( _Then why won't you cut it?, he asked after his brother complained about yet another jealous older knight trying to overpower him by grabbing his ponytail._

_'Because I like my hair!' the older boy laughed in response.)_

Felix didn't really feel himself stopping; he was vaguely aware of Bernadetta bumping into his back when he suddenly halted in place.

“Are you alright?”

The voice was scratchy. Rough. Inhaling smoke did bad things to the throat and lungs; even if you escaped the worst of the damage, it still left a mark. Fire was pitiless that way; a foe you couldn't fight and consumed you whole, leaving nothing behind. Unless you were lucky. Unless...

He didn't realize he dropped his sword until Bernadetta yelped and the four spun around. The blue haired swordsman...turned around...

Felix might have screamed 'fake' if it weren't for the burn scars. If it weren't for the rasp in his voice. Staring back at him with startled, curious blue eyes was his _stupid dead brother_ , head tilted slightly as if there was _nothing fucking wrong_ with this image, as if he wasn't defying death itself by standing where he was -

“Impossible.” Wittiest reaction ever. Felix blamed the strange disconnect he was feeling between his eyes and his brain. “Impossible. It – it can't be.” _It can't be you, you're dead, they gave father your helmet and your sword, Dimitri said you died protecting him like the proper knight you were-_

Yet _Glenn_ stared back at him as though his face held the secrets of the universe, his brow furrowed intensely – the way it always did when he was thinking hard, or trying to remember something. He was older, thinner, scarred – so many scars; there wasn't just a burn over his eye and across the bridge of his nose, his hands had burn scars, his neck had burn scars – his cloak covered his arms and back, but if he took it off there would be many more-

 _They died burning, they died screaming!_ He could still hear Dimi – _the boar_ screaming those words at the men he'd brutally slaughtered during that uprising. _Burning alive!_

Ingrid appeared out of nowhere (at least it looked that way to him, Glenn filled his whole world in that moment), tears in her eyes. “Glenn?” She whispered, a terrible, pleading _hope_ in her voice that made Felix's hands shake. He vaguely heard Bernadetta gasp right behind him. “Glenn, it's me. It's Ingrid. Don't you recognize me?”

Glenn blinked twice, his eyes darting between them. Then he spoke, in that quiet, rasping tone unlike the cheerful confidence he'd left the castle with those four years ago. “T-That's my name. You know my name?”

Felix should have reacted to those words and everything they implied, but hearing his brother's voice for the first time in four years – _you're dead they told me your dead I buried you in my heart I mourned you I kept going –_ broke something in his chest he couldn't patch up fast enough.

He made a horrible keening noise – a noise he hadn't made since that day, when he'd buried his feelings or burned them in a bonfire to strengthen himself. Glenn's attention instantly snapped back to him, jerking a bit as though instinctively moving to comfort him. _He'd always done that, always had time to no matter how inane his problem was--_ “You...You...” He tried to get two intelligent words out. It was harder than it had any right to be. An idea hit him, quick as lightning, and he snapped out “show me.”

“What?” Glenn asked quietly. It wasn't defensive – just uncertain. _He'd never heard Glenn sound uncertain before._

“My brother had the minor crest of Fraldarius,” Felix responded fiercely. _Glenn never begrudged him for inheriting the Major, despite being his younger brother. He joked about it and teased Felix occasionally when he lost to him in a spar. No wonder Sylvain so often spent time with him rather than Miklan._ “If you're really him, show me!”

Glenn's eyes widened slightly. His hand came up and then-

There it was. The crest ( _their Crest)_ hovering in the air above his hand. And that finally broke through the disbelief chaining Felix's brain.

 _Blessed Sothis, thank you so much – I missed you -_ “You bastard,” _I missed you so much, why, how, **Glenn-**_ “You bastard, where have you **been** -” Felix didn't really notice he was moving; one minute he was standing still, the next he was in Glenn's arms, tackling him and knocking him several feet backwards, burying his face in his shoulder and clutching him tightly. He was thin; not so thin that he could feel bones under his arms, but _thin_ , thinner and more wiry than he'd been when he left home. This was his brother; his big, stupid brother, too noble to run and save himself, too noble _not_ to go and stick his nose into a problem that had nothing to do with him, too kindhearted to not try to save someone he knew was in trouble.

That honor had killed him, except – except it hadn't, he was _here_ and he was _breathing_ -

After a second of shock, Glenn wrapped his arms around him in turn, tight and warm despite his initial startled, confused hesitation. Felix was mortified to realize he felt tears burning at the corners of his eyes; he blinked furiously to drive them away.

Even if he was confused, even if he didn't remember where he'd come from ( _because why else would he be surprised that Ingrid Brandl Galetea, his darling fiance, knew what his damned name was?_ ) it didn't matter – none of it mattered because he was _**alive!**_

He barely noticed Ingrid and Sylvain joining the group hug; all he was really aware of was Glenn's racing heartbeat, the feeling of his brother's arms clutching him tightly. He was alive. He really, really was alive.

 _Where were you? Where were you all this time -?!_ “You vanished, you were _gone –_ your helmet came back, your sword came back-” _He can still see their father slowly sink to his knees, clutching the burnt helmet and sheathed sword as he wept in short, harsh bursts; the gardener collapsed, the maids dropped what they were holding and begged the man to tell them otherwise -_ “Four years, four goddess-damned years, why?!”

He really should hit the honor-bound idiot, punch him hard enough to give him a _taste_ of what thinking he was dead _did to them_ but he couldn't let go, instead he found himself clinging all the tighter to the scarred swordsman of all things...

 _What stopped you, what could have been more important, what could have mattered more than us_ “Where were you? Why didn't you come home?!” Felix's voice cracked; his vision blurred, he clenched his jaw and hit his forehead against Glenn's shoulder.

The answer was what he expected – yet somehow was all the more devastating for it. “I didn't remember where home was,” Glenn responded, a quiet tinge of shame and remorse in his voice. He pulled back just a little bit so Felix could see his eyes, see the storm of shock, creeping dismay, and wonder mixing together in those wise blue pools.

He was alive. He was injured, broken, damaged, but he was alive.

Felix honestly didn't care about anything else at the moment. To have the biggest loss of his life suddenly be erased...how could he be anything but glad?


	4. Bernadetta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernadetta is determined to be brave; she's glad to have Felix at her side.

_'I can't run away, I can't run away, I must not run away! I have to fight for my friends!'_

“ _Being brave isn't about not being afraid.”_

Bernadetta pulled hard on Nico's reigns with one hand, urging him into a sharp left that took them out of the way of a fireball. Letting go, she grabbed an arrow from her quiver, reached into her Crest's power, and fired a retaliatory barrage. Eight of the ghostly arrows hit their targets; three missed, but with most of the battalion around them abruptly dropping dead, the remaining mages quailed and booked it into what little cover there was on the field rather than face her.

She looked up at the sky for Claude. He wasn't hard to find; Ivory was pretty distinctive, even when she was way up in the air. He was surrounded by pegasus knights – hey, wasn't that the Triangle Attack? _Nope! No, that's unacceptable!_

She raised her killer bow to the sky, tracking her enemy as they swooped around _her brother_ ; she aimed, and fired with a pulse of Crest power. Again the ghostly scattershot volley hit its mark; two of the pegasus knights fell from the sky, while Claude was left unharmed.

A roar directly in front of her made her shriek in alarm – she couldn't help it. But the war master wasn't given the chance to get close to her.

Felix appeared in a blur, slicing the man's massive battle-axe in half with a flicker of Crest light. Faster than she could blink, he attacked again, his crest's power slicing through the man's armor, his chest and into and through his heart. The man died with a gurgle, falling to the ground when Felix wrenched his sword free.

“Don't shriek like that; you'll make yourself look like an easy target!” He chided her. “Let me worry about guarding you; just focus on picking off mages and fliers.”

“O-Okay! I'm sorry!” Bernadetta squeaked, a now-familiar feeling of butterflies-in-the-stomach replacing her dread, terror and distress for a long, bright moment. In spite of all logic – in spite of the chaos and death all around her – the moment he spoke to her, she felt safe.

Maybe she was silly ( _a stupid girl, an unmarriageable – NO!_ ) but she liked being around Felix. Sure, he was really scary at first, but sometimes he just – became soft. Gentle, caring... whenever they were in a fight together, he always came to her side and protected her. He worried about her and keeping her safe, even when he was grumpy and denied it at every turn. After a while, even his grumpiness wasn't quite so scary... _I think he just prefers being angry to being scared. Or sad._

If she could...maybe they could...maybe...

 _No one wants a stupid, wailing girl like you,_ her father's voice echoed in her head like a crack of thunder. _No one wants a scared, weak, useless little burden who needs constant maintenance-_

Bernadetta grit her teeth and urged Nico forward, flying back into the fray. She raised her bow, taking aim at a bunch of knights trying to get at Marianne while she healed some people, and fired. She imaged each fatal arrow was hitting her father.

 _NO! You're WRONG!_ She raged at the voice that had tormented her every day since she thought Yuri had died. _Byleth cares about me! Claude thinks of me as his sister! Marianne cares about me! Yuri cares about me! You're WRONG about me, and you ALWAYS HAVE BEEN!_

She saw Felix rush past her in a blur, cutting the ropes of a knight's saddle and slashing his leg. The man screamed as he fell; she flinched at the sound, tears forming at the edges of her eyes...but she tamped down on that feeling with all her might, blinking and forcing herself to focus as she urged Nico forward again.

Bernadetta wasn't sure what made her remember Byleth's lesson on snipers and their importance on the battlefield, but it was grinding at the back of her mind...as she moved forward, she looked cautiously from rooftop to rooftop, searching for any sign – ah!

“Stay alive, Bernie,” She whispered to herself as she drew, aimed and fired in one smooth motion. The sniper that had been on the roof multiple blocks away toppled from their perch like a doll falling from a shelf. She swallowed hard over the lump in her throat and quickly returned her attention to the field.

She didn't to be out here, oh goddess above she didn't want to be here. Part of her wanted to scream, to cry, to run away and hide with Yuri's people in the woods. This wasn't the battles Byleth had lead her in previously; this was war, this was victory or death ( _or worse or being hauled back to her father back to that room in that mansion back to being trapped no no no no-_ ) this was a place where she couldn't be weak, ever!

_Why, Edelgard? Why this? Why war?_

Would she ever get a chance to get an answer? ...Would the answer even matter at that point?

“Heads up,” Felix warned her, surging ahead again. Bernadetta saw what he'd seen moments later – another group of heroes and war masters, having managed to get past the front lines of defense, were charging towards them.

“G-Got it!” She wished she could calm her stutter. Like waves on a beach, once again her fear suddenly dropped away for that hot, bubbly determination that had given her the strength to call out the Flame Emperor – to step up and volunteer, to promise to fight and not run away.

_I'm going to fight for my friends, and what I believe in!_

Draw, aim, fire. Her Crest kicked in again – without even conscious effort on her part; again, half a dozen men fell before her. Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her, but she could have sworn that a ghostly arrow that might have hit Felix when he clashed weapons with one of the war masters dissolved into mist before it could hit him. _Not that she had time to dwell on that right now!_

Felix sliced his enemy's arm and kicked his knee out of joint; he promptly followed that up by slicing the man's throat open. Blood sprayed his cloak and armor as he moved onward, ducking under a tomahawk thrown at him by another furious war master. Bernadetta had to keep moving – the men who hadn't been killed were trying to get a bead on her – but she circled around, keeping an eye trained on her friend while she drew and fired again.

“Is that all?” Felix sneered before slicing through the chest of the would-be avenger. Bernadetta shot down the two men trying to converge on him.

The now wide open road of what once had been the main square of Garreg Mach's entrance was cluttered with corpses, rubble and puddles of blood. It wasn't so bad that her maneuverability was significantly cut down, but they were hemmed in a bit by e-everything on the ground...

The smell of death was making her gag. She tried to put it from her mind, but it was relentless.

“Keep one eye behind you!” A semi-familiar raspy voice snapped. Bernadetta twisted over her shoulder and yelped when she saw Glenn drop the corpses of a pair of mages that had been creeping up behind her and Felix. “Geez, I didn't think I'd need to remind you of _that_ ,” he chided in exasperation, giving her a quick look to make sure she was alright before running to Felix's side.

“Thanks,” Felix said instead of snapping at him; he did sound a little grumpy, but Bernadetta still goggled a little, because Felix snapped at _everyone!_

_Except me. Occasionally he snaps at me, but he barely ever does._

She wasn't quite sure what to make of that, but it made her feel really warm all the same.

“How's your quiver, Miss Varley?” Glenn asked her.

“O-Oh! I'm okay, for now. I still have about half left; m-my crest is good for that.” Bernadetta waved one hand to clarify. She paused and then added, “Y-You can call me Bernie! Miss Varley is my mom.”

Glenn smiled warmly at her in response. He kind of reminded her of Claude – gentle and affectionate and playful. “I've lost track of a few people, which I don't care for very much.” He said.

“The bo – Dimitri ran off without you?” Felix asked; he didn't sound very surprised. Glenn frowned at him, but decided to let the odd comment pass. Bernadetta tilted her head, trying to parse out her friend's feelings – because something happened between Felix and Dimitri at some point, something that hurt their relationship really badly ( _it's hard to hug mother, hard to feel close to her, because while father did what he did she never intervened meaningfully even though she loved her. Never grabbed his hand when it was raised to hit her, never broke into that attic room to untie her from the chair-_ )

“Yeah, and so did Atra. I swear, I need to find her a keeper,” Glenn grumbled without too much heat. “They went further inward, toward the front lines. The fighting will be heavier there, but shall we take the plunge nonetheless?”

The question was directed at her, not Felix, Bernadetta realized with a start. He was giving her an out, he realized that she was scared... She smiled at him before forcibly squaring her shoulders and straightened her back. “Yes. Let's go.”

She even managed to keep her smile.

( _Someone was screaming not far away, crying out for their mother, crying from a wound that made their voice gurgle like they were choking to death between breaths. Someone else was screaming in an attempt to rouse a friend who seemed unresponsive. The screaming was digging into her brain like the shadows of that attic room and she felt like she might join them any second-_ )

“Alright then; let's go find our foolish friends.” Glenn said with a small, but honest laugh. Bernadetta latched onto the sound and made it a lifeline as he and Felix began to move forward; Felix looked over his shoulder to make sure she was following them. She nudged Nico forward, grabbing a handful of arrows offered to her by a passing Knight of Serios.

Somehow, the siege seemed even worse as they rushed down the front road toward what had been the local residences near the front of the gates. There were small fires raging everywhere; smoke rose through the air, stinging the back of Bernadetta's throat. Now she could see snipers on every other rooftop; fortunately, even as she spotted them a few here and there fell suddenly. Nevertheless she raised her bow and fired at the nearest one as Glenn and Felix fell on a group of mages that were slaughtering a group of trapped Knights. The first arrow missed but the second one hit; thankfully before the man had a change to spot her and retaliate.

Then she lowered her bow, biting her lip as she watched the two brothers zip back and forth in front of her – she couldn't afford to hit them by accident, but that warlock was giving them some trouble; he was armed with Banshee and Death, two awful spells...

Felix suddenly dropped to one knee, giving her a perfect brief window of opportunity, and she took it without missing a beat. The arrow caught the warlock in the throat ( _wheezing, dying, oh goddess I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry_ ) and dropped him like a stone. Felix flashed her a pleased look and was back on his feet in an instant, moving forward again.

Glenn ducked under a war master's punch, kicked the man's knee in, and brought the hilt of his sword down on the back of the man's head. Leading her horse around them, Bernadetta shot at the two warriors trying to follow up on their comrade's attack; a shout of warning from Glenn allowed her to dodge Banshee from another warlock.

Felix promptly sliced his throat open, spraying blood over himself once again. It was staining his blue hair almost black under the early evening sunlight. ( _She wasn't sure why she noticed that...some small details just kept catching her eye, and then became hard to ignore._ )

So many people, so many people...ah, but she knew that it couldn't be as many people as E-E-Edelgard had to spare. A big part of her army was still stuck outside. This – this was manageable. Claude said they could hold out, and Claude was really smart.

Bernadetta looked up into the sky for a moment, searching for her big brother. ( _Why couldn't I have been born a Riegan-)_ A flash of white in the distance, flying in loops around some black dots without slowing down, eased her nerves and let her refocus her attention on the ground. ( _at least I know where Dorothea is, where Linhardt is, they're staying back to help the wounded. I don't know where Yuri is, though...please be okay!)_

There was a massive flash of gold light in the distance. Bernadetta felt her mouth drop open even though she'd already seen this happen several times before; that was Byleth, Sothis, Byleth and Sothis fighting to protect them with everything she/they had – just like always.

_I'll fight too! I will!_

She followed Felix and Glenn down the road, firing at snipers who took aim at them and taking them out. Her mother had always said she had good eyesight; at least it was good for something now.

They were making a decent pace, considering there was just three of them; crest or not crest, that was no small feat. Above the chaos and the screaming, Bernadetta made out a familiar voice raised in furious, uncharacteristic anger.

That was Dimitri-! Oh no, was he slipping inside himself again? No no no, this is a terrible place for that to happen-!

She barely heard Glenn let out a strangled curse. “Go!” She shouted, urging Nico into a gallop. She rushed past her two companions, aiming for the alleyway Dimitri's raised voice was coming from. It was cut off from her by a couple of knights, but she could do something about that!

Her Crest flared, the arrows flew, and the enemy fell like so many broken dolls before her. Quickly she turned and looked into the alley, bow still at the ready.

 _They're safe._ Her heart, which felt like it had been winding itself into tighter and tighter knots, relaxed when she quickly found first Dimitri, then Byleth and Atra, all standing more-or-less unharmed ( _except for that arrow in the Professor's shoulder! Oh no! Wait, that's just in the shoulder, she'll probably be okay if we get her to Flayn or Linhardt-)_

 _Safe for now._ She flexed her hand on her bow, getting the feeling back in them.

_I'm going to fight for everyone I love! I'll take you all on...no matter what comes! There are some things in this world...t-that are worth dancing with death for!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. Adore. Bernie. On multiple levels; she's both funny and tragic in strides, and her eventual triumphs are so much more meaningful for it. She's also the character in the game that I relate to the most, so writing in her headspace was very easy for me. 
> 
> Bernie's fighting hard to stay brave during the siege! She falters at time, but she keeps steady. I've turned her into a pretty crazy murder machine in a couple of my playthroughs (assassin Bernie was a personal favorite role I put her in!) so it was a little funny to listen to her shriek in fear while racking up the biggest body count on every other map.


	5. Dorothea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea is confronted by the Flame Emperor and has to make a choice.

“Has anyone seen Edie recently?” Dorothea complained, flopping dramatically down on the cushiest chair in the Black Eagle classroom. “She's been gone all afternoon; she hasn't been call off to the Empire again, has she?”

“I am having misgivings,” Petra said with a concerned frown. Dorothea glanced at her good friend, trying to smile reassuringly at her. “I have not been finding her either.”

“It could be she was called away suddenly,” Linhardt replied diplomatically. “Emperor Ionius has been ill for quite some time; even my father wasn't able to do much about it.” Lord Herving had the minor Cethleann Crest, so his inability to cure a deep-set 'rotting sickness' like the one the Emperor had was unfortunate but not particularly surprising. It was thanks to Herving's tireless care that Ionius had lived years longer than his prognosis had suggested.

“You'd think we would have heard if the Emperor's condition had worsened,” Ferdinand said in confusion. “My father hadn't said anything like that recently. In fact...I haven't heard from him in a few weeks.”

“Has any of you been seeing Hubert?” Petra turned around, looking between them. “He has been leaving since lunch.”

That made Dorothea frown and lean back in her chair, trying to think. Hubert was generally attached to Edie's hip, which was kind of annoying; it wasn't easy to have playful, joking conversations with her while he hovered around her like an angry bat. That wasn't to say she hated Hubert, hardly! He just wasn't good at taking jokes.

“Yeah, they've got their own little thing that they don't feel like including us in,” Caspar grumbled. “They've been slipping off again and again ever since the start of the year, haven't any of you guys noticed?”

“Wha? What are you talking about, Caspar? Sure, Edelgard has made herself scarce a few times, but we've always known where she was.” Ferdinand protested.

“Oh yeah? Where did she go off when the Professor and the others went off to find out what was happening in Remire? Or morning after the ball? Or before we left for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion?” Caspar retorted, crossing his arms.

Dorothea parted her lips to chastise him, only to hesitate when she tried to recall those moments and realized that Edie had wandered off in every one of them. ...And unless she was misremembering, Hubert had been gone as well. _Well, he wouldn't let her go off and potentially find trouble without him there to help her. Surely it was just an odd coincidence...right?_ What in Fodlan would she have been off doing?

“I...that is...” Ferdinand slowly sat down, confusion filling his orange eyes. “I'm not sure.”

“Are you thinking she might have found trouble?” Petra asked, sitting on the edge of her chair and pressing her palms against her desk. “I am having some concern.”

“We'll ask her when she gets back from whatever it is she's doing,” Dorothea assured her. “I'm sure it's nothing serious, or she would have mentioned it to us.”

Caspar made a noise of agreement. Petra didn't seem very placated like that; Dorothea didn't blame her. Ripples in the royal court could potentially affect her status as an 'honored guest'. _Perhaps it would have been better if Ferdinand had convinced her to petition to return home,_ the songstress thought with a pang of concern. _I would miss her terribly, but at least I would know that she was safe. A lot of strange and scary things have been happening around here lately...including Captain Jeralt's death._

Her heart went out to Byleth whenever she thought about that terrible tragedy. Her own father might have been a horrible waste of oxygen, but anyone who saw Jeralt fuss over the professor in his gruff way knew without question that he loved her dearly. It was awful that she'd lost him in such a violent, _senseless_ way; now she only had the mercenaries she'd grown up with for family...

 _And us,_ a voice in the back of her mind said optimistically.

 _Getting a little presumptuous there?,_ Dorothea's common sense responded chidingly. _Just because she promised to assure you'd be taken care of all your life doesn't make you family; besides, she clearly didn't catch the hint in that remark anyway._

It had been a long shot, unfortunately. Dorothea could hardly deny crushing on Byleth for the first little while she'd known her; how could she not? A powerful, intelligent, caring woman who was taller than most men, beautiful as a dream and did not suffer fools or bigots; what more could someone want in a spouse?

Alas, the professor's eyes were turned toward Claude. Not a bad choice, really; Dorothea might have given a go at trying to seduce him if she'd had the opportunity, ( _he was charming, funny and didn't look down on her for being poor the way Lorenz did_ ) but the brunette had proven a shy person despite his friendly demeanor.

 _Wariness, more likely. He is going to be ruling over that snake pit of nobles when he becomes Lord Riegan,_ her common sense noted. Dorothea felt a profound pang of sympathy for him at that thought. _Hopefully Byleth will provide him all the support he'll need._

So she'd regretfully let go of her budding romantic feelings, encouraging herself to look elsewhere while Claude subtly courted his teacher. That didn't mean she'd given up being friends with Byleth, however. It wasn't always easy to know what the stoic girl was thinking, but the invitation that she'd offered the Black Eagles to join them in the Holy Tomb for the vision she'd supposedly be receiving from the goddess was proof that she returned the sentiment.

Edie had politely rejected the offer on the class's behalf, explaining that they were preoccupied today...only to vanish after lunch! The nerve! Unless it was very important, Dorothea was going to give her Such a Lecture when she saw her next-

The double doors swung open with a bang. Everyone jumped, even Linhardt, who had been nodding off into yet another nap.

Edie strode in, a massive box somehow held under one arm. Hubert was at her heels, holding another box, and behind him – much to Dorothea's shock – were eight heavily armored Imperial soldiers, their expressions set in stone. Ferdinand's eyes widened and he scrambled to his feet. “Edelgard!” He cried in disbelief. “What are you doing-? Wh-why have you brought guards into the Officer's Academy?”

“Has something happened? Are we under attack again?” Caspar demanded, shooting up next. Dorothea anxiously twisted and stared out the window, looking for smoke and listening intently for any sound of the cries of Demonic Beasts. Could they really not go one month this year without another disaster demanding their attention-?

“Not yet. And we're not the ones under attack, for now.” Edie responded coolly; she dropped the box on one of the tables and snapped the locks open. Dorothea twisted, starting to ask what she could possibly mean by that, only for the words to die in her throat.

The helmet her friend had just removed from the box was that of the Flame Emperor. Even though none of the Black Eagles had personally seen the mysterious terrorist ( _except for Bernie, who traded red for gold in her eagerness to learn directly from Byleth_ ), but they had seen the sketches that had been composed of them from their fellow student's memories. This...there was no doubt. Yet Edie didn't treat it with any gravity; she continued to remove parts from the box, each part of the ensemble, before removing a set of chain mail clearly designed for someone of her size. Hubert had placed his box down, removing the rest of the armor for it, and without a word he began to place the chain mail on her.

Turning, two of the soldiers drew the double doors closed and stood in front of them, blocking the only way out of the room. Dorothea swallowed hard, her heart suddenly hammering quick as a hummingbird's wings. Fear sank into her stomach.

“Edelgard...why do you have the Flame Emperor's armor?” Linhardt asked slowly after a few seconds of shocked silence.

“Because I commissioned it,” Edie responded confidently; no remorse, no certainty. Just he same certainty she always used when giving them orders. “I am the Flame Emperor.”

Dorothea stared at her; she barely heard the confused, shocked and disbelieving noises echoing from her classmates. Her legs suddenly felt weak; like she'd gone for days without food. The words bounced around her head, mocking her attempt to make sense out of them.

Caspar let out a wheezing sound halfway between a shriek and a demand for an explanation; Linhardt dropped the book he'd been reading, it fell to the floor with a bang. Petra said something in the language of Brigid that Dorothea didn't recognize, her expression collapsing into shock.

“I did not take up the role for myself,” Edelgard said as Ferdinand started to muster up a response in the face of this declaration. She hadn't stopped slowly putting on the armor piece by piece. Dorothea felt her mouth opening and closing, the memory of a civilian of Remire crying in her lap and gasping out what had happened to her mommy and daddy flashing before her eyes. “I took it up for Fodlan in order to reclaim its future from the church.”

From the church? Dorothea thought back to the abby that had allowed her to sleep in one of its rooms, despite the bishops openly considering her and the other homeless who came through its doors as dirty nuisances. She'd never had much faith, because what kindly goddess would condemn her to suffer on the street because she wasn't a noble and didn't have a crest that might have induced her to at least give her a roof over her head? And yet...

“The church has chipped away at the power of Adrestia for centuries to take its place as Fodlan's central authority,” Edelgard said as Ferdinand gibbered, flailing slightly as he tried to wrap his mind around what he'd heard. Dorothea would have snorted in amusement if she weren't in the same boat. “They created the system of binding one's worth and honor to the possession of a Crest, devaluing the rest of humanity! They masterminded the succession of first the Kingdom, then the Alliance, to make the masses bicker amongst themselves and be unable to unite in the name of improving the lives of everyone. They are a blight and blinders upon our people that can only be removed by force. The archbishop is a power-hungry woman who will never allow her control of humanity slip even slightly.”

“Lady Rhea?” Linhardt sputtered. “How?”

“She controls our history, controls who becomes king and Emperor, controls what those who turn to her for wisdom believe. She is more evil and dangerous than you know; I cannot breathe the truth about her here, but it will be revealed to you very soon,” Edelgard said darkly.

“Edie, I don't understand.” Dorothea said when she finally got control over her voice. “Our time here – all those horrible things that have happened, including Captain Jeralt's death and poor Flayn's abduction – you organized all of that? B-Because you think Lady Rhea is – is some sort of secret tyrant?”

That didn't make any sense. The church had less power in the Empire than it did anywhere else; 'excessive interference' had resulted in many of the abbeys within either closing or distancing themselves from the Central Church. If anyone had 'secret power' in the Empire, it was the nobles like Ferdinand's horror of a father and his friends from the Insurrection.

The Kingdom? Well, maybe, but the straw that had steeled Loog's resolve was the one-two punch of heavier taxes falling on struggling northern territories along with the kidnapping of a young minor noble who by Lord Aeiger after her father refused to accept his marriage offer. And the Alliance had more control over the Eastern Church than vise versa!

But...But if church somehow controlled what history was told, was...was that wrong? Did Edie...

Her mind flashed back to Byleth, lying comatose in a hospital bed after the brutal murder of her father. She remembered that little girl crying on her legs, describing how her mother had killed her father and tried to strangle her in a fit of drug-induced madness before Raphael miraculously smashed through the door and yanked the woman away.

“Answer me!” Dorothea demanded, launching out of her chair and getting right up in Edelgard's face when she realized the latter either hadn't heard her or choose to ignore the question. Hubert tensed up – and wasn't that a slap in the face? Was Hubie really, really going to attack her just for – for demanding an explanation? “Why did you kidnap Flayn? Why hurt that poor, sweet girl? Why murder Captain Jeralt? He and the Professor saved your life! And the village? What of Remire and it's children?!”

“Those weren't my desire, nor my perogative,” Edelgard dismissed, a scowl falling across her face. “Allies of mine, whom I was forced to turn to in order to get out from under the thumb of Lord Aeigr and his minions -” Ferdinand flinched “-pursued those goals.”

“Your allies?!” Dorothea said disbelievingly. “How could you-?”

“You ask as though I have a choice!” Edelgard fired back, taking a threatening step towards her. Her eyes blazed like hellfire; Dorothea stumbled backwards, shocked and a little afraid. Edie had never given her such a look before. “Aegir had made my father and I into puppets! We had no power! He and his clique controlled the army and the finances! I had to escape his grip in order to make this possible. I _needed_ allies of my own, however loathsome they were, or else I was powerless to change anything. To save a single person!”

“Who was _saved_ by what happened in Remire?” Linhardt asked. His sleepiness was banished; his voice shook on a note.

“The future,” Edelgard said vehemently. “The future that has been stolen from everyone since the day the church came into existence. My siblings died because of the church's degree of Crests being sacred. For true wisdom to prevail, the old world that poisons the earth _must_ be torn up and thrown in a bonfire.”

“ _We are the future,_ my fellow classmates,” She said, turning away from Dorothea in particular to address all of them. She was almost fully armored, except for her helmet and its pale, expressionless porcelain mask.

Just like Jeritza's mask. A calm man, if a strange one, only for the mask to fall off and reveal the Death Knight below. Just...just like Edelgard.

How could the smiling girl she'd eaten dinner with brush off the deaths of those villagers as some sort of – of what? 'Necessary evil?'

What other horror might lie beneath the mask the girl she'd thought she'd known had just thrown away?

“It is by _our_ hands that Fodlan can be saved. It is the Empire that we will build up that will rule with true justice, true wisdom, and _peace_.” Edelgard shook her head before pointedly holding out her hand. “Come with me. Let us reforge Adreastia into glory.”

A horrible silence fell over them.

Then Petra uneasily stood up. Dorothea felt her jaw drop in disbelief; she started to call out to her friend, only to be cut off when the captive princess turned and gave her a _look_.

That was fear in her eyes. Fear for Brigid, if she refused to obey her captor. Fear for what would happen even if she did obey. With a stab of fear and dread, Dorothea realized that there was no way out of this for her dear friend. Letting out a shaky breath, drawing from strength she didn't know she had, she mouthed out, _'do what you have to'._

Petra blinked twice. Then she gave Dorothea a very small, very sad smile...and walked over to Edelgard's side in silence.

“My father is helping you, isn't he?” Caspar asked. His voice was very small. “That's why he came to talk to you during the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. He was helping you set this up.” Edelgard nodded stiffly. “...I...” Caspar bit his lip. “Okay. If you've got my father convinced, I guess – I guess there has to be something for this. But I want a better explanation later, damn it!”

“Caspar!” Ferdinand protested weakly. “A-Are you sure?”

“My dad's not a dummy, Ferdinand,” Caspar responded hotly. “There's gotta be something to this, right? I'm gonna go find out.”

“...If it is for Adrestia...” Dorothea could have screamed, wanted to punch him, but Ferdinand walked out of her reach to join Edelgard as well. “Then I will join for Adrestia's sake.”

“You're all crazy,” Dorothea said flatly, stepping backwards again. Her eyes were on the soldiers at the door now, to the weapons they were carrying. Fear flooded her mind, nearly rendering it useless for a minute. Were they here to kill her if she refused to join?

She clenched her hand, preparing to cast Fire or Thoron in self-defense. If that's why they were here, she wouldn't be taken without a fight.

“Dorothea? Would you not join me?” Edelgard asked.

“Edie, this is crazy. You're talking about killing people by the hundreds. I-In a war...the – the church is everywhere, including in the Kingdom and Alliance. You – you're talking about killing Dimiri and Claude. You're talking about killing Ingrid and Felix and Raphael and Marianne and Flayn. Our friends...”

“I can't,” Linhardt said when Dorothea ran out of breath, her throat tightening as she tried to articulate her feelings around the rock of horror and fear in her throat. “War brings bloodshed...so, so much blood. I-I can't...I can't...” He slowly sat down, shaking his head. “No. I won't. I won't be a part of that.”

“You can't make me kill our friends,” Dorothea said, her lips trembling. She thought of the time she'd spent with Mercedes and Annette, sharing tea and laughing about this and that. She remembered joining Lysithea for a seminar and learning more from her than from Hannaman as the white haired girl fired off theory after theory about the spells they were being taught. She thought about the ball when Sylvain had intervened when two older boys were leering at her and stayed by her side to make sure they left her alone, before bringing her onto the floor for a dance. She thought about gentle Marianne, not pushing for her to join her in prayer but nevertheless hoping she would join in choir practice just to hear her singing. She thought about Byleth, her kind smiles and her silent devastation after the death of her father.

How many people would be inflicted with such sorrow if Edie – if Edelgard went to war?

“No. I won't go. This is a mistake, Edie. Please, don't do this.”

For several seconds that felt like an eternity, Edelgard said nothing. The fierceness in her eyes drifted away and was replaced with both sorrow and resignation.

Then, without a word, she whirled on her feet and stalked out of the room, Hubert at her heels. ( _Hubie didn't even give her a backwards look_.) Petra, Ferdinand and Caspar all jumped, before rushing to keep up with her. “Keep them inside until after it's done,” The Emperor commanded the knights.

Moments later, the doors slammed shut, locking Dorothea and Linhardt inside. She could hear two men taking up guard positions in front of them.

Slowly the songstress sank to her knees, wrapping her arms around her chest, shaking and forcing down her frightened sobs as the world gave out from under her feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly I want a Dorothea/Claude support. Think about it; Dorothea is afraid that no one will want her if she isn't a beautiful singer. Claude is afraid no one will want him if they find out he's half Almyran. They'd banter at first, then slowly open up to each other. It would be a C-A+ support, I think. ...This series really does give me too many ideas. 
> 
> Poor Dorothea; but she's a kindhearted person who sticks to her guns. She refuses to be the aggressor of a war.


	6. Mercedes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercedes helps Seteth and her fellow classmates deal with heretics on Cichol's sacred grounds.

Mercedes hated people who hid behind faith to justify murder.

She didn't like hate; the emotion burned away at you until you were a hollowed-out shell, warping you until you resembled the very people you so despised. Patience, compassion and understanding were much better tools for approaching the world and its wayward people. But sometimes people were so evil and yet so self-righteous, twisting scripture around to say that their evil was actually right and just, that were beyond any sort of redemption – and unworthy of sympathy.

When Seteth had approached them with the news that those radicals from the Western Church who had attacked the monastery months ago were now attempting to occupy the sacred lands of Saint Cichol – attacking and killing multiple worshipers who had been there at the time simply for attending the Central Church – she knew that she had to lend her help.

Dimitri had been of the same mind, thankfully, so all of the Blue Lions had accompanied Seteth and a battalion of Knights to the beaches. Mercedes had half-hoped that the Deer would join them as they had done some times before; unfortunately, Hilda had a call for help from home that couldn't wait. So she bade her friends good luck. She didn't know very much about Almyra, only what she'd heard through rumors ( _and she'd learned not to put stock in rumors as she got to know Dedue_ ) but she trusted Byleth to see everyone and herself safe through the battle.

Their journey had been dogged by a few encounters with thieves on the road; nothing they couldn't handle, but it was a little unsettling to be reminded once again how troubled the countryside was these days. It had taken nearly three weeks to reach the beaches; a dull travel, since they were mostly moving through the forests.

And once they were at the beach proper, they had to hang back and carefully feel out what defenses the Western Church radicals had set up. Mercedes was waiting in the wings, biting her lip and waiting worriedly as Ashe and Felix slipped off to scope out the battlefield.

“You look like you're thinking hard,” Dedue's rumbling voice drew her from her reverie. Mercedes blinked twice and turned her head to look up at her friend; he had drifted from Dimitri's side over to her, one eyebrow raised. “Are you troubled, Mercedes?”

“Oh,” She blinked and gave her head a slight shake. “A little, I suppose. It's very frustrating to deal with men like this.” She frowned out at the beach, where she could hear heretic priests shouting at each other.

“Why is that?” Dedue asked curiously.

Mercedes sighed. “There's no more a wicked and unreasonable man who claims to be the most faithful worshiper alive, yet breaks the most precious law the goddess laid out for us – you shall not kill – with impunity and without remorse.”

“...Is that so?”

“Yes. A thief might rob you because he's hungry; a lord's cruelty might sleep from time to time...but anyone who harms another with the approval of their conscience will do so without end.” Mercedes watched Seteth and Dimitri discuss strategy animatedly, relieved by the confidence in which the two were standing.

“I see.” Dedue followed her gaze. “Are you worried they will try to go down fighting?”

“A bit,” she confessed. As much as she loathed them, she didn't want their deaths on her conscience.

“...I'll help you subdue them alive where ever I can,” He promised her. It made her smile and brought a tightness to her chest; he was so warm and kind, despite everything that had happened to him, and he never complained of anything. She admired him very much, and perhaps secretly hoped for more than the friendship they had built up over the months...

“Thank you, Dedue.”

It was at that moment that Ashe and Felix shot out of the brush just north west of them, running to Seteth's side. Shouts of alarm and anger had broken out on the beach, loud enough to be partly understandable; someone must have been seen.

Mercedes took a cleansing breath and rolled her shoulder back, mentally readying herself for a fight. Annette was all but vibrating in place, bouncing on her toes and clenching her fists which were glowing with magic. Felix had a hand on his sword, that little half-smile that always accompanied the expectation of a good fight on his face. Ashe had his bow in hand, back straight and confident in a way that reminded her of Claude. Ingrid patted her pegasus's mane, looking determined as ever. Dedue gestured with one spiked gauntlet for her to join the main group; Dimitri was sliding a lance off his back, the perfect image of a warrior prince as he turned to face them.

Seteth whistled, summoning a large black wyvern from the trees. He unburdened his own lance and stepped up onto the saddle. “The heretics are spread out across the beach. They aren't in formation, nor should they have any real tactical skills; they are bishops and clerics with simple combat training. Each of them will be dangerous, however, so don't let your guard down.”

“Seteth and some of the Knights will make their way to the island alter to take care of the men stationed there,” Dimitri told them. “In the meantime, we shall be taking care of the main beach with support from the rest. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” The lions answered virtually as one.

Dimitri smiled warmly at them, affection and confidence in them glowing in his eyes; Mercedes pondered once again how lucky she was that he would be her king in time. After a lifetime of those in power above her abusing her, ignoring her or openly exploiting her for their own gain, it was so comforting to know that the man she was putting her faith in valued her and would do anything to protect her from harm.

 _He will be a great king. Perhaps even better than his father,_ she thought fondly.

Seteth took to the air and flew out over the beach; the knights exploded from the tree lines after him, praising the goddess as they went. As they'd been ordered, the lions hung back until the first line went out ahead of them, then took to the battlefield in their wake.

The beach that met them was beautiful; the sun sparkled on the clear blue water, the sand was warm when her boots sank into it and it brushed against her ankles. There was a light wind rustling the tree leaves; not enough to blow sand in your eyes. On a good day, they could come to this place not just to worship, but to enjoy the beauty of Fodlan...

Unfortunately, that day was not today. Just as Seteth said, the western priests and the mercenaries they had hired – at least, that's what Mercedes presumed the assassins and swordsmen standing between the various warlocks and priests were, the other possibility was too disturbing to contemplate. There were at least three dozen of them on the beach; some were in the sands proper, the others had taken the earth ridge overlooking it, staking out the prayer circles that they had stained with the blood of innocent people.

One of them was close to where they had entered; she was wielding a levin sword and screaming orders at the assassin standing at the foot of the stairway.

Felix casually nudged Ashe and pointed his sword at the man. “Cover me,” The blue-haired swordsman said before making his way toward his first opponent.

The terrain was a problem, Dimitri had told them while they were traveling forward. While Mercedes, Annette, Ashe and Ingrid wouldn't have any problem with their footing, the others would be slowed down by the uneven footing and their heavier armor. Looking at the ridge, Mercedes figured he had decided it would be wiser for himself, Felix, and Ashe to go up the ridge while she, Annette and Dedue took the beach itself; Ingrid could fly overhead and help both sides as needed.

Ashe strung the killer bow Byleth had so thoughtfully bought for him and fired from behind a bush that provided him just enough cover to be useful. It hit the assassin in the shoulder, causing him to stagger and leaving him unprepared to guard against the next blow; Felix slashed his leg open with a blinding fast sword swing before finishing the man by kicking him in the gut, knocking him down and out of the fight.

He immediately had to jump to the side to avoid a lightning strike from the priestess. “It is out duty to worship Saint Cichol!” She cried fervently. “We will not allow heretics to come near!”

“You lost any favor from the Saints when you murdered those innocent villagers who had come to pay here!” Mercedes retorted loudly, her anger spiking rapidly at that. “Don't claim to speak for heaven when playacting a devil!”

“Silence, foolish child! The apostate has lead you astray! We will-argh!"

The priestess's rant was cut off by Felix jumping the entire stairwell in two moves and slamming the hilt of his sword into her chest. As she staggered backwards, Felix slashed her arm and kicked her wrist when she lowered it in pain. The Levin Sword went flying into the air, allowing Felix to catch it in his other hand. “Don't run your mouth on the battlefield,” He said in contempt before slashing across her chest. The refined silver blade sliced right through her leather armor, cutting into the soft flesh beneath and causing her to drop with a scream of pain. “Thank you for the sword.” He pointed the Levin sword to the left, casting a thunderbolt at the swordsman rushing up to confront him.

The blow caused the man to cry out and freeze up, his body locking up as the shock hit him. Ashe took the opportunity to shoot him in the knee with an arrow as Dimitri vaulted the steps and blocked the lance of a surprise enemy pegasus knight that had been hiding from view. The prince casually grabbed the weapon with one hand and wrenched it free of her grip; the pegasus knight cried in alarm and tried to retreat, but Dimitri wasn't having it. He followed her and jumped up, grabbing her leg and forcibly pulling her from the saddle, dragging her down to earth as her mount fled from Ashe's arrows.

Secure in the knowledge that the three boys could take care of each other, Mercedes turned her attention fully forward as Annette and Dedue charged toward the mages and assassin directly ahead of them. _Don't get distracted,_ she chided herself, picking up her skirt just a bit so she could rush after them. _Don't leave Felix worrying that you'll get hurt if he isn't nearby to protect you!_

Annette opened her hands and fired Sagitte at the assassin; he dodged the blow, but in doing so he wasn't ready to dodge a blow from Mercedes. She quickly cast Bolganone, thankful that she had allowed Annette to talk her into taking up reason magic; as much as she disliked fighting, there were times when it couldn't be avoided, and the harder she could hit the better.

The flames caught the man in the chest; she flinched at his scream. Mercedes doubted she would ever get used to the horrors of battle...she rather hoped she wouldn't have to.

She jumped forward again, getting in front of Dedue and crossing her arms, taking the fire blast from the nearby warlock that had been aimed at him. Her innate resistance to magic was the strongest of anyone in the Blue Lions; Ingrid was second to her. The flames dissipated as they splashed against her skin; she only felt a slightly oppressive heat, not even singed. Swinging her arms out to dissipate the smoke, Mercedes slung her newest weapon off her shoulder.

It was a gift from Constance, bought from one of the merchants in Abyss. Apparently it had been designed by a young village girl from the Alliance, who had left the country to avoid the incessant proposals from a lord thirty years her senior who was clearly just interested in profiting of her intelligence.

She aimed the elegant bow at the mage, who blinked at it in confusion. She could feel magic humming through the length of the bow as she drew and fired an arrow at him.

The magical head struck home in the man's chest, staggering him. She hadn't expected it to pierce all the way through his resistance, but that wasn't the point. Dedue blurred past her and took advantage of the opening she'd created for him to pummel the warlock into the sand; a sickening crack made her cringe again, but she made sure to smile gratefully when Dedue glanced back at her in concern.

A javelin fell down from the sky, piercing through the arm of the other mage that was tangling with Annette. Ingrid darted back over to the ridge, swooping down and stabbing the assassin that had been charging through the brush to get at Ashe. Dimitri promptly finished him off with a lance through the throat.

Annette blasted the mage back with a fireball, knocking him down. Mercedes knelt and tied him up with the rope that she had been given, then letting Dedue help her stand again so they could turn their attention to further down the beach.

Out in the water, Seteth and the Knights were working together with effortless efficiency. One of the small islands just off the coast had already been fully taken over, the heretics there seized and captured instead of being martyred as they no doubt wished to be. Now Seteth and a group of archers were making hit-and-run attacks on the priests and warlocks trying to hold the Cichol Shrine.

Mercedes followed Dedue and Annette, glancing to the side and casting Physic on Felix, who'd gained a limp at some point. He waved absently in thanks before charging a swordsman who was guarding the prayer circle ahead of them.

Even as she fought, she kept one eye on Dimitri. He had a terrible tendency to get hurt in battles without really seeming to notice; she had taken to shadowing him whenever they went out on a mission to make sure that he stayed healthy and safe.

He wasn't being too reckless in this battle, however, moving back whenever he needed. That was a relief.

“Assassin ahead,” Dedue warned her.

“I understand,” Mercedes promised him. Assassins were very light-footed; they could easily catch them by surprise if they weren't careful. “Annie?”

“Got it! Let's get him, Mercie!”

The blonde smiled happily at her best friend, then drew another arrow. The magic head flared into existence as she took aim from just behind Dedue; Annette scampered off to the side and threw two fireballs in rapid succession at the assassin, drawing his eyes. Focusing wholly on her – probably assuming Dedue's footing was too awkward to be of any assistance – the assassin charged, dodging one of the fireballs and having the other one graze his arm.

That's when Mercedes fired, having tracked him for a few precious seconds to perfect her aim. The arrow hit him in the side, right above his ribs; the man staggered and stumbled to a halt, cursing in pain. Once again, Dedue shot forward and rang the man's bell with a devastating one-two punch to the head, dropping him.

“Mercie, look out for the archer!” Annette's warning came just in time; Mercedes instinctively dropped to her knees, causing the arrow to whisk harmlessly over her head and land in the ocean. “You're done!” The orangette yelled angrily, casting Cutting Gale in retaliation; the massive blast of wind slammed into the archer's chest, shattering his bow and throwing him into the ground ridge.

Dedue blurred again, taking out the mage looking to take advantage of the surprise and pummeling him into submission. Smiling in relief, Mercedes got back to her feet and clasped her hand together, spreading her magic out in all directions and whispering 'Fortify'. The spell went off without a catch, healing the wounds of all those around her; she heard cheers and calls of thanks from knights and her friends on the ridge.

Dimitri and Felix were at the prayer circle now, trapping the heretic priest between them and cutting him down when he rejected the prince's offer of surrender by trying to blast him with Seraphim. Ashe chased off what few mercenaries remained in the bushes with a flurry of arrows, while Ingrid circled overhead, checking to make sure no enemies were lingering in hiding.

A cry of victory echoed across the gentle waves hitting the beach; Mercedes turned around and saw the man who had lead the seizing of the sacred land. Seteth dismounted from his raven and stepped into the small shrine, likely checking for damage and to discover if the holy artifacts had been removed.

“Is everyone all right?” Mercedes called up the ridge, just to be sure.

“You worry too damned much,” Came Felix's response. Which was his way of saying that everything was fine, so she smiled anyway.

“Your Highness?” Dedue called.

“I'm alright, Dedue. Just pausing for breath,” Dimitri said, a smile in his voice.

 _Something's put him in a very good mood recently,_ Mercedes thought. _I hope whatever it is, it continues to lift his spirits. Someone as kind as him shouldn't be so sad all the time._

Seteth was approaching on his wyvern...she wondered if he could be convinced to let them spend some time on this beach, once all the surviving heretics were rounded up. It would be a shame to come here and not have a chance to unburden their souls and enjoy a taste of happiness in these somewhat turbulent times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Mercie so much; she's kind, empathic and open-minded while also being deeply religious. There's no contradiction there; it's just part of her overall character! You'd think that would be impossible the way some people go on these days, so it did me a lot of good that she gets to have all these characteristics without being in any way needled for having faith. 
> 
> Ah, I can't decide whether Mercie/Dedue or Mercie/Sylvain is my favorite pairing for her; they're both really good.


	7. Lysithea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lysithea watches over her comatose professor and remembers those she's lost before.

Lysithea sat in the chair, staring at the textbook in her lap without really seeing it. Marianne was humming a prayer hymn as she knelt by the Professor's bedside. It had been over a day since Dimitri had come out of the tunnels beneath Garreg Mach, carrying her prone form bridal-style, and she still hadn't woken up. Stable, but still sleeping.

When Captain Jeralt told them an abbreviated version of what happened, for a split second she'd feared the worst.

_Everyone I love dies trying to protect someone they care about._

Lysithea bit her lip until she tasted blood.

_Zavier hid her in his arms, covering her ears to drown out Sonia's screaming and begging the mages to have pity on her, 'stop please what did I do I'm sorry I'll be good why-'. He kissed the top of her head, promising that people would come for them, that everything would be alright. Even as their mother sobbed hysterically and passed out, as her father helplessly beat his hands against the door in his third attempt to break in and rescue them, he stayed calm and sang to her._

_They didn't know Sonia had died until her cries ceased, and a mage strode into the room. He regarded them thoughtfully from behind his bird-nose mask; Kyo whimpered and Maya spat at him in an attempt to hide her fear. Angered, the mage stalked forward and made to grab her-_

_Zavier jumped up and punched him in the back of the head, then laughed at him and called him a coward only good for kicking helpless little girls. The mage dragged him out of the room, leaving Maya and her behind._

_He didn't start to scream until the next morning._

Lysithea shook her head violently, trying to force the memories away.

Why was she left behind when her loved ones went to confront death, why didn't Byleth bring her with them, why was she only capable of doing anything in the aftermath-

Marianne started another song. The soft, sweet tune managed to penetrate the roving chaos of Lysithea's mind; she leaned back in her chair, still staring unseeingly at the words on the page while clinging to her friend's voice as an anchor for her sanity.

When Sir Alois substituted for Byleth on the first day, telling them that Rhea had asked Byleth, Claude and Hilda to handle a certain matter quietly in her stead, Lysithea had smelled a rat. If that was the case, Byleth would have told them ahead of time and offered them the chance to join her, right? Even if it was true, it wasn't the whole truth; and it annoyed her that Sir Alois couldn't tell she was annoyed at being lied to.

She was not a child, she could handle the truth, you'd think that she'd never been faced with how terrible the world could become-

Her fingers dug into the cover of the textbook. She scowled down at it, still not really being able to focus on the diagrams.

After Byleth was brought up the hospital, accompanied by Claude and Prince Dimitri and Princess Edelgard, Captain Jeralt had taken them all aside and told them everything that had happened right under their feet in the last few days. Mercenary attacks on the tunnels that ran below the monastery. A whole complex of homes and shelters right underneath the Officer's Academy, where the truly downtrodden and outcast people came to live in peace. A Chalice that could raise the recently deceased ( _of course it was only the recently deceased, why was it hidden away why hadn't they known maybe it could have saved Kyo maybe it could have saved Maya at least-_ ) and the Ashen Wolves with their mysterious, forgotten Crests. Attacks from an unknown source. Finally, a magical trap that Byleth had almost killed herself getting all her friends – and the Ashen Wolves too – safely beyond its borders.

The Chalice at least preformed somewhat to its specifications...it restored Byleth safety to health from the throes of fatal magical burnout. She was still asleep though.

And Claude, the jerk!, had promised to answer her questions – and then promptly bolted out the door, saying that there was one more matter they had to take care of. The Ashen Wolves were involved too; she hadn't seen much of them – each of them briefly appeared in the hospital wing to check on them. They didn't seem too bad, honestly; Lysithea wouldn't have really been aggravated at them if it weren't for her exclusion from the events that had occurred with them!

_Kyo was the last one taken; she'd clung to his arm and screamed and fought with the mages. She managed to hit several of them with magic until one of them kicked her in the head, throwing her into the wall and sending her spiraling into pain and darkness._

_She lay there for four days, alone, only occasionally hearing her mother's broken sobs and pleading for mercy. Her father was silent; she was afraid he had been killed trying to save one of her siblings, but she didn't know. All she saw was the emptied four walls that had once been a family knitting room; her food was pushed through a slot that had been cut through the bottom of the wood._

_She couldn't hear Kyo screaming anymore. She doubted that was because he wasn't being hurt; the mage who'd come to get Maya had viciously complained about the 'endless shrieking grinding his nerves into powder'._

Lysithea turned the page over. Honestly, she finally realized the diagram she was looking at was Seraphim's. She'd already learned it.

It took her a little looking around before she found Dark Spikes. She examined the diagrams and the small runes that were needed to 'activate' the spell, so to speak. They were complex – not nearly so much as the ones required to learn Hades Omega, but no easy task, even for her. It would take some time to perfect.

She'd learn it in half that time, however. She'd always been good with magic.

...She'd never needed the damned Crest they'd stuck her with.

_Despite the long, horrible hours she'd waited in dread for her fate...when the mage finally confirmed Kyo's death by stalking into the room, radiating a mixture of frustration and excitement, all she'd felt was quiet resignation...and serenity, somehow._

_She'd been calm, silently raising her arms so he could pick her up more easily – she was too ill-fed and tired to walk. The mage seemed surprised by this, standing dumbfounded as he stared down at her face; another brushed past him and lifted her with surprising gentleness in her arms._

“ _Don't force mother to watch this,” Was all she'd rasped out._

“ _...As you wish,” The distorted voice replied, strangely lacking the malice she'd come to expect._

Byleth didn't think she needed it.

Lysithea thought that – despite her best efforts to suppress it – her Professor had spotted her using the Gloucester Crest during their tussle with Flayn's kidnappers. Yet despite the fact that the older girl must have known about her also possessing the Crest of Charon ( _that wasn't a secret, after all – it had been public record. Her father had been so proud that five of his eight children bore the minor crest.)_ , Byleth never asked her any questions, never demanded an explanation for the sheer anomaly of someone possessing two separate Crests at once.

She only cared that Lysithea not work herself too hard.

The 'Ashen Demon'? Hah! Byleth fussed and fretted worse than her own mother; she was wholly invested in the well-being of their students and their happiness. From buying them gear and weapons to giving them extra lessons on her own time, Byleth seemed to think nothing more valuable to her than Lysithea herself and the other deer.

...That's why she was lying in this bed. If not for the Chalice she would have shared Zavier's fate, Faith's fate, Keith's fate. Again Lysithea would have lost someone important to her because she couldn't protect them, couldn't help them at all...

Something in her chest twingd; a familiar pain. Lysithea expelled a long breath.

“Lysithea? Are you okay?” Marianne asked quietly, glancing over her shoulder at her fellow classmate. Her sad eyes were so earnest she almost said –

_No. And maybe I never will be._

“I'm fine. Just had a tickle in my throat.” _You can't heal the wound that's twinging right now anyway...and it would kill you if you couldn't do anything for me. You're very nice, for all that you are so trapped in this silly notion that you're some sort of personification of disaster._

“A-Alright. I brought glass up...I can make you some water if you want.”

“No worries, but I'll remember that. Thank you.”

The pain wasn't so bad. It was a little more frequent than last year – she'd been keeping a journal, purely for her mother's sake. ...Her mother was still clinging to the hope that somehow, someone would be able to undo what had been done to her that day. Lysithea didn't have the heart to try and shake her from that hopeful haze. Her parents deserved to hold onto whatever hope they could for the time she had left with them.

Byleth moved slightly, her head slightly in her sleep. Marianne perked up and checked on her again, examining her with the diagonistic spell that Manuela had taught her. Lysithea watched in expectantly until the blue haired girl sighed and said, “She's closer to waking up, but her body's still largely shut down to process the healing magic.”

“Little progress is better than no progress,” Lysithea muttered, her eyes dropping down to the Dark Spikes diagrams again.

She'd thought about telling Byleth, once and a while, when the latter was well and truly in a mothering mood. Something told her that at some point her Professor would catch her in a fainting spell, then sit her down and guilt her until she finally told her everything. Both pride and the same desire not to be a burden on her conscience kept her silent.

Byleth would be devastated if she was faced with the fact that she couldn't save her precious student from what was killing her. Lysithea found the thought of seeing her unflappable Professor that distressed...disquieting.

_Upsetting, really, because it was hard to be faced with the endless patience and kindness that Byleth had for her without wanting to return it-_

She's worried at first that Claude would poke around her things and come across her medical journal, then use that to figure out what was wrong with her. He was nosy enough that she thought he was capable of it. However, as months went by and he'd made no efforts to get into her effects without her permission ( _she was in the habit of setting up her room so she'd know if anyone disturbed it_ ), she eventually realized that sort of subterfuge wasn't Claude's style.

At least, not when it came to people he liked.

It was an odd thing to come to realize. Infuriating as he was, Claude was as dependable as the sunrise. Lysithea genuinely believed he would protect her if she told him and those mages appeared again.

Which was why she had no intention of telling him right now.

_The memories of the experiments themselves were a blur. They must have figured out a way to somewhat ease the damage to her body that they took; while she ended up screaming some, it wasn't as much as Sonia or Faith. She spent the days going in and out of consciousness, her mind a confused, jumbled mess whenever she surfaced long enough for the mages to give her liquid food and drink before putting her under again._

_She didn't hear her mother screaming, but maybe she'd been too out of it to recognize her voice. She was always aware of people talking around her._

_That didn't mean there wasn't any pain, though. There was terrible pain, a fleeting memory that resurfaced in her nightmares from time to time._

_The only coherent thought she had in those times was 'I am the last'._

Lysithea ran her fingers over the runes, muttering them over and over to commit them to memory. Marianne's singing was tapering off; she must not have slept much last night, because her head was drooping and she rested her upper body on the edge of Byleth's bed, drifting off to sleep. Lysithea debated waking her, then dismissed it. _I'll wake her if the Professor wakes before her._

Reading kept the silence in the room from being suffocating. She wondered if she could somehow chase Claude down and force him to take her with him on whatever mission he and that guy – Yuri? - were cooking up to catch the mercenary's employers; she suspected she might be too late, though.

She'd wait for Byleth to wake up, then they'd go together to find him and the others. That would give her a prime position to watch the Professor give him a proper scolding. The thought made her smile, amazingly enough.

_Her memory of the final day was half-blurred, half cleared. She woke up in her mother's arms, roused by her sobs of relief as she patted her hair. A mage was kneeling nearby examining her with some sort of spell. The first thing she really cognizant of was her hair...that silver silk was her hair? She tried to ask, only to break down coughing when she tried to form the words. Her mother cradled her tighter, babbling at her not to talk and begging for water._

“ _It's a success!” The mage shouted. “It works! The Dual Crest status is possible! She's stable!”_

“ _You call that stable? Look at her body. It's ravaged! She'll be lucky if she lives past twenty-five.”_

_Her mother let out a choked sob and demanded to know if that was true. Lysithea wasn't really listening, only staring at her hands in confusion. She squeezed them, feeling a foreign power running through her veins, and tried to push it out._

_The Charon Crest glowed above her right hand. The Gloucester Crest glowed above her left._

Lysithea sighed. She wondered, again, who the mages had been trying to perfect the Dual Crest procedure for. They must have been doing this by someone's commission, but no news of the breakthrough spread across Fodlan – even though nobles could clamor at the possibility of implanting a Crest within a person's body.

Her current theory was that it was one of the Seven who had taken power from the Emperor...if not the Emperor himself. Revenge for their support of Hrym. It made as much sense as anything else.

...Byleth would help her find the truth...

 _She has enough to worry about,_ Lysithea thought. Something inside her keened, wanting to share the horrors to someone – anyone. She pushed it down, though, as she always had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, in another game Lysithea would be the main character. She's an endlessly fascinating character, both with and without her backstory in mind. I love her so so much. (Can't figure out what my favorite pairing for her is. Linhardt's nice, but she's got a great dynamic with Cyril, and I actually love her support line with Felix. Choices choices!)


	8. Ashe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe buys an apology gift for Marianne and tries to get a complete sentence out in her presence.

“These are the best we've got. There's not much very fancy in your price range, kiddo.” Anna had a faintly strained smile that she often wore when he started bartering with her; Ashe always felt a little bad about it, but he knew the weight of his wallet and he knew that she could afford to shift her high prices around. Because despite everything she'd ever said, her profits were probably the highest in the merchants who frequented Garreg Mach.

“That's alright. This is perfect,” Ashe said, smiling in turn as he leaned over the table, examining the open long box sitting on it. Within lay a number of necklaces, all semi-precious stones set in sterling silver glittered in the morning sunlight.

His eyes were drawn to an aquamarine gem, roughly the same size as his fingernail. It was almost the same shade as her hair. _Would she like it? Or should I choose something that would contrast nicely with her complexion? Augh, I should have hung around and listened to Hilda for a little while longer..._

_She doesn't wear really a lot of jewelry, so I don't really have anything to contrast with. Oh, the amber is really nice, too... Diane likes amber. Would Marianne like it too?_

This was his current conundrum. An apology present should be thought through as much as possible; which one would Marianne like more?

Ashe hummed thoughtfully as he examined them, torn. In his heart he was leaning towards the aquamarine; his mind unexpectedly to a passage in Loog and the Maiden of the Wind when the future king met his future wife, Edith Goneril. _Gold for the light of your eyes, my lady,_ Loog had said shyly. She'd smiled, bemused by yet another suitor at her door yet appreciating his respectful treatment of her, and accepted-

-aaand now he was blushing. Ashe gave his head a quick and semi-frantic shake to clear it of dangerous notions. This was an apology for confusing Marianne for a ghost, not a flirtation. What on earth was he thinking? How could he possibly hope to go from accidentally implying 'you're so inherently creepy-looking I mistook you for a specter' to 'you're the most beautiful woman in Fodlan, I hope you'll accept this?' She would laugh at him!

Well...no, she wouldn't laugh. Laughing at others wasn't in Marianne's character, no matter how absurd they behaved. In fact...had he ever seen her laughing? Ashe felt a pang in his chest when he realized he wasn't sure he ever had.

“So who's the special girl?” Anna asked cheerfully, making him jolt and belatedly remember that she was still there.

“Oh,, I'm not special to her,” Ashe said, flustered, before placing two fingers on the aquamarine gem. “I just owe her an apology, and I figured I should get her something nice.”

“Really?” The shopkeeper purred. “I could grant a slightly lower price for a gift from the heart; young love is priceless, after all~”

Ashe felt himself blush and mumbled, “She's not exactly in my league...” He tugged the soft blue gem necklace free of the felt holding it and the others, and held it up for Anna to see. “I think this one's perfect. How much for it?”

Bartering with Anna was a bit headache inducing, if only because she was so stubborn; however, she seemed less interested in getting the highest possible price from this necklace. Ashe got it at a discount and was cheerily sent on his way.

Step one complete. Now he just needed to find her...

Ashe paused at the entrance of Garreg Mach, craning his neck to look up at the tallest of its towers. He'd started horse riding lessons a week ago, and Marianne had been there too; he'd heard Leonie mention during that lesson that the blue-haired girl had often been in the stables, caring for the horses, pegasi and wyverns.

She's also – been with him in the cathedral after Magdred Way. She'd sat next to him, singing and praying for both Lord Lonato and his little siblings.

There was a good chance she'd be in either of those two locations...and if he couldn't find her there, either Hilda or Professor Byleth would probably be able to find her. Giving himself a nod and steeling his nerves, Ashe slipped the necklace into his pocket and turned to the right, heading toward the far staircase that would lead him into the stable entrance.

Kittens and dogs trotted to and fro, several coming up to him and rubbing against his legs in search of treats. “Haha, sorry, I don't have much on on me right now...” Ashe knelt, patting one dog on the head while taking a strip of dried meat from inside his coat. What leftovers remained after dinner were often given to visiting villagers and the animals that inhabited the monastery; there was a reason these were some of the plumpest, happiest-looking street animals he'd ever seen. Carefully tearing it into bits, Ashe tossed the meat to each animal that had come up to him, scratching a particularly fluffy cat between the ears as he watched them eat. Then he got up and continued on his way.

There were a lot of people going here and there, both knights and servants alike. Several of them recognized him and waved warmly, which made him smile. The welcoming atmosphere of Garreg Mach reminded him of when he'd first been brought into Lonato's estate; it made him less homesick.

...It didn't hurt that he was a little afraid to go home, after Lonato...

Ashe slowed to a stop at the entrance of the stables, his heart twisting with a sharp and horrible pain. He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes tightly as tears prickled at their corners; even as the months wore on, the grief would suddenly come back to him when he thought about anything that reminded him of his adoptive father. There'd been one mortifying moment when he'd broken down into a horrible crying fit in the middle of the day in the library; he'd stumbled on a book that Lonato had used to teach him how to read, remembered one rainy night when he'd first been able to finish a chapter on his own, and completely lost his wits.

Lysithea had been there too; she'd loudly bawled out everyone who'd stood there staring at them, ordering them out of the room. Then she sat down next to him, rubbing his back until his tears ran dry and he managed to calm down.

She was very sweet and compassionate underneath her spiky competitiveness.

Ashe leaned his head against the stone wall; he breathed out slowly, willing his emotions to ease back into his heart. He didn't want Marianne to get the wrong impression.

Once he was calm, he took a fortifying breath and pushed off the wall, turning to enter the stables.

He found her almost instantly.

Marianne was standing in the sunlight, brushing down one of the horses – Dorte, if Ashe remembered correctly – while humming softly to herself. Despite how time consuming and dirty the task was, she seemed quite happy with her work. Some of the other horses were peering out of their stalls, as if impatiently waiting for their turn to be spoiled by her.

Ashe gulped nervously and began to edge his way toward her.

She was beautiful, in an understated way; her hair was lightly wavy, the few strands that fell loosely from her braids curling delicately around the shape of her jaw and her pale throat. Her slender fingers worked the brush through Dorte's mane, seemingly soft yet unyielding. ( _she was so fierce in battle, elegant and deadly; she didn't even seem to do intentionally, this power coming as easily to her as breathing)_. She was dressed in priestess robes and tall riding boots, fitting for her chosen path; a long dark overcoat protected the fine cloth from getting splattered with mud or other dirt in the area. Her voice was lovely; not as well-trained as Dorothea's, but soft and tone-true and ringing with sincerity.

He might have stood there, staring blankly in admiration, for a few moments too long. Marianne blinked, stepping back a bit and turning toward him. Her ever-tired eyes widened slightly in surprise at the sight of him. “Oh...hello, Ashe.” She said.

“M-Marianne! Hello,” He stammered, barely managing to avoid blushing. _Hello? Hello? Really...?_ “I've, uh, not come at a bad moment, have I?”

“No, I was just finishing up with Dorte here.” Marianne brushed the horse's neck, cooing sweetly. The horse nickered happily; she stepped away and walked over to Ashe. “Were you sent to come get me, Ashe? I often loose track of time when I'm working with the animals.”

“N-No, it's not that. I just – wanted to see you,” Ashe fumbled, scrambling into his pocket. “A-About the previous night – ah, I've been so embarrassed by that, I feel like I didn't apologize properly.”

“The previous night...?” Marianne raised a hand to her cheek, a puzzled look on her face. A moment later, understanding flashed through her eyes. “Oh, that. It's really not a problem, Ashe...it was pretty dark in the chapel.”

“Don't say that,” Ashe protested, feeling his cheeks turn a little red. “Thinking you were a ghost was very silly of me...so...um, here.” Finding intelligent words hard to come by ( _he'd debated back and forth asking Claude for help, but ultimately shied away with the fear of the merciless teasing he'd undoubtedly be subjected to!_ ), he quickly lifted the necklace from her pocket and pressed it into her hand gem first; closing her fingers around it.

She blinked three times, surprised; then she opened her hand and gasped when she saw what she'd been given. “T-This is...” Hesitantly she ran her fingertip over the glittering gem; Ashe resisted the urge to fidget or flee, or both. “Y-you didn't have to...t-this is too much...” Marianne stuttered, a warm flush of red filling her cheeks.

“That's not true; honestly, I worried it might be a bit too cheap for a lady.”

Marianne shook her head vehemently, looking up at him with wide eyes. There was a mixture of startled happiness and faint guilt in those blue orbs; Ashe felt his cheeks heating up as he stared back at her, waiting anxiously for her response. “No, no, it's beautiful, I just...” She shook her head. “R-Really, you didn't have to spend this kind of money on me, especially not over a simple misunderstanding.”

“It's not any trouble,” Ashe insisted. “I thought it would look good on you.”

For a second he thought he might have made a terrible mistake letting those words slip, but Marianne simply gawked at him for a moment before blushing and tilting her head down to hide her face. “That's...” She fumbled with the chain and then – hesitantly – slid it around her neck, hitching it. The small gem lay against her throat. “W-Well...do you think so?”

 _Ooooh, I'm in trouble,_ the boy thought distantly. “Y-Yeah. Do you like it?”

Marianne nodded.

Then she smiled at him. Small and shy, but true.

Ashe was very proud of himself for not passing out. _Yes. Definitely in trouble. ...I might have to hide from Hilda._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here!; have a short but cute scene between Ashe and Marianne near the beginning of their romance! I do like shipping them together ever so much; he's my second favorite pairing choice for her after Dimitri.


	9. Linhardt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Linhardt deals with his emotions inside Fort Merceus

“ _H-How are you not scared, Linhardt?!”_

“ _Who said I'm not scared?” He shuddered, desperately trying not to look back at the dead bandit. “My mother once said that you can get so scared you sort of loop back around to being calm...that's what I am right now.”_

That conversation with Bernadetta – from way back on their first mission for the Officer's Academy – replayed in an endless loop as Linhardt was admitted into Fort Merceus. Part of his mind still struggled to conceptualize the familiar colors of Adrestia's military as the enemy; the rest of him was wired tighter than a rabbit-proof fence, afraid that the plan was visible in his eyes, that he would crack and give everything away-

Dorothea's hand stole into his as they were lead through the front gates, squeezing tightly as if trying to transfer some strength to him. He smiled gratefully for a moment then ducked his head to hide the expression. The Empire deserters and masqueraded Knights of Serios formed up around them, cheerful and confident. He wished he could share the feeling.

Ah, he'd promised Byleth and Claude and Dimitri and the others that he could pull this off. What if he had made a mistake? On a lark, he wished that Hapi had come with them; even when her calm was artificial, her even temperament and sassy observations could carry him through the most uncomfortable, dangerous situations.

“We'll send word to your Lord Father and Lady Mother immediately,” The general, some new appointment of – of hers, probably seeing as he didn't recognize the young man. “I'll show you to my study.” He didn't offer the same to Dorothea, didn't really acknowledge her outside of praising her loyalty to the Emperor.

“Thank you.” _Mother will be glad to hear from me...I can't miss this chance to reassure her that I'm alright. I hope she's staying holed up in the mansion with the family guard. War spares no one, no matter what blood they carry._

His heart hurt terribly at the thought of his poor mother. He'd known, ever since he was little, that he was the sole joy in her life ever since she'd been married to Fredrick Herving; she'd been offered to him as a strong political match, and had multiple miscarriages before giving birth to him...his medical studies suggested that she'd inherited fertility issues from her own parents... his father had never forgiven her for that. She rarely got to see her friends from her days at the officer's academy, and the servants were her only allies.

He'd known, when he made the choice not to join Edelgard, that there was a chance he'd never see her again. But she'd always taught him to listen to his heart; unlike his father. He thought – he hoped – that she would be proud of him for sticking to his guns and refusing to soak his hands in blood.

 _We'll have a lot to talk about when we see each other again,_ Linhardt thought optimistically as he trotted after the guard commander, who was babbling endlessly about how impregnable Fort Merceus was and all the attacks it had repelled previously. _I can only say so much in a letter, after all._

He glanced back at Dorothea, who was standing back with the other troops. She caught his eye and scraped together a smile and an encouraging wink for him. _Don't worry about getting word out for me,_ she'd told him strangely lightheartedly. _There's no one left in the Empire that I love. I never had much to begin with, after all._

Linhardt wasn't oblivious, however. He knew that she was quietly worrying about the opera company she had been a part of, and this was just her putting on as bold a front as she could manage. _I wonder if I can convince Yuri to ask his information network about the street-level goings-on in Enbarr...there's so much going on, he'll probably say no, but at least I'll have asked._

It was disconcerting to see proud, bright, spirited Dorothea so quiet and defeated-seeming. Byleth and the others had brought a few of her smiles back, but for the most part...she seemed like a wilting flower, tormented by an early frost.

Linhardt wondered if She would even care if she saw.

_But he didn't think about Her anymore._

A five-minute walk brought him to the guard-commander's office. Amazingly, there wasn't some stuffy noble nominally in charge of the fortress that he'd have to suffer through dinner with for the next two nights; idly Linhardt wondered if that was a new change. He politely thanked the man for his troubles and sat at the desk, taking a quill and ink as he pondered what to write.

 _Whatever we can do to cause confusion in the Empire's information is valuable,_ Claude had said at some point. He'd been talking to Yuri at the time, but Linhardt knew that was applicable to all of them and the minds they touched along their way through Imperial lands. Biting his bottom lip, he began to write out his father's name as the words slowly came to him.

He gave some outdated but accurate information about the movements of the united army of Faerghus and Alliance he now belonged to. He mentioned Claude and Dimitri participating in the war councils, knowing that his father considered them children at best and would consider that a sign of weakness. He carefully worded Byleth's communication with Sothis so it would sound to his father like she was hallucinating, painting an image of her as a bewildered, half mad waif rather than the strong person that she was. His father was not the cleverest man who ever lived; he doubted that he would see through this. And if this would make battles easier to win with low casualties, the lies and manipulation he was writing was a small price to pay.

It took four drafts before he'd written something he was confident in. That set side, Linhardt wrote a short letter to his mother.

_I am well, and haven't suffered more than the discomfort and distress that war inflicts upon us all. Blayddid treated me quite gently, Dorothea too; the Knights of Serios were largely aloof. I think they'd rather had been searching for former Archbishop Rhea, or actively serving Eisner in some fashion, than minding me. I've eaten well, and I've rested as much as I can. I promise you will see me again, though obviously I can't say when for sure. So please, take care of yourself, and stay away from any sort of trouble._

He hesitated, then penned at the end, _I love you mother. Wishing for your good health, always, your son Linhardt..._

Breathing out slowly, Linhardt felt the corners of his eyes growing hot. Quickly he pushed the letters forward so the ink wouldn't run or splotch from his tears. Frantically he rubbed his face on his sleeves, pressing his other hand against his chest in a vain attempt to push his grief and fear away. He couldn't break down here, if he started crying he wouldn't stop...

There was a brisk knock on the door, followed by it opening and the sound of someone standing at attention. “Young Lord Herving, I was sent to-”

The young woman's voice broke off mid sentence; Linhardt swallowed hard over a whimper and stood up slowly. “May I help you?” He asked in what he hoped was an even tone.

“...I think I ought to ask you that,” She said in response. Linhardt took a deep breath and rubbed his face clean again before turning around to face her. She was a tall woman, older than Catherine by a few years but not much more than that. Not particularly remarkable, having light heather-brown hair and green eyes, but it was the look of compassion melting into her expression that pierced his chest like a javelin. “I don't mean to overstep, sir.” She gave him a light half bow. “Dinner will be held shortly; might I escort you there, or do you feel a bit too ill for food and conversation?”

“Good food is enough of a lure after the past two weeks,” Linhardt said, mimicking Hapi's deadpan calm. “Lead the way, miss.” She was a lieutenant, judging by her rank, but he was a noble; not required to address her by rank unless it was above colonel.

She smiled kindly at him and showed him out of the office. Then – much to his surprise – she boldly put a comforting hand on his shoulder, the soft notes of an old childhood song on her lips. He could have gotten her into trouble, but the motherly gesture was so unexpected and yet heartfelt that he wouldn't have made a noise even if he were inclined to.

* * *

Linhardt told Dorothea about this young lieutenant during dinner. She'd been quick to urge him to ask her in particular to show him around the fortifications, including the ramparts; she'd then passed him a small makeup locket with a mirror he could use to catch the light and signal their successful infiltration. Then she'd gone right back to entertaining the rank-and-file Imperial troops with her singing and dancing without missing a beat.

Linhardt saw some men watching her every move with a dangerous sort of hunger, elbowed the nearest deserter to him and jerked his head meaningfully towards him. Thankfully the man understood instantly. “We won't let anyone touch her,” he promised.

“Thanks.” He said in all seriousness.

He'd never asked how Dorothea made her way in the world before getting to the officer's academy – it was none of his business. But he'd heard enough rumors to know that she deserved better.

It took a little hunting to find the friendly lieutenant, but he did stumble on her eventually; she was chewing out some of her men for getting drunk, stridently reminding them that this was not a holiday posting and their pay depended on their ability to preform 'better than the average tavern fool!'. She'd seemed startled that he remembered her face, and introduced herself just as 'Heather'. “Farmer's girls don't get last names,” She'd laughed upon being asked.

She'd agreed fairly cheerfully to his request, two of her other fellow soldiers joining them as she lead him around the internal workings of Fort Merceus. Linhardt had never been here before, and his stomach sank and the sheer size of the internal workings of the fortress. Even getting past the walls wouldn't give an easy victory to his friends; it could still be a grueling, costly slog.

 _I don't think I'll be sleeping much tonight,_ Linhardt thought dismally.

The sun was setting when Heather finally lead him up onto the battlements overlooking the fortress. It was intimidating to look to be sure, and the sheer number of archers was worrying...but as long as he did his job and got the army inside, it would be manageable.

“My nephew would not like the view much,” Heather mused as her explanations wound down, glancing over the side. “He's been afraid of heights ever since he almost fell out the tree he and Sarah were climbing. Scared the life out of my sister; I heard her screaming all the way from the barn.”

“I never did much climbing,” Linhardt mused. “I preferred to sit in my bed with a good book.”

“Maya would have much preferred that,” Heather said wistfully. “But even if he doesn't climb anymore, Sam's still running all over the place and getting underfoot. I learned discipline in military school, but it's not a path I want for him. I appreciate the paycheck, but war is not something someone should spend their life in.” She let out a fond, tired sigh. “What am I going to do with him...?”

“Would not your sister...?” Linhardt started, only to break off at her sad expression. “Forgive me, that was unnecessary.”

“No, don't apologize. Tuberculosis is still the bane of farming communities; if you don't have a church with a well-learned bishop presiding, doctors who don't demand a fortune for their services are hard to come by.” Heather's eyes clouded over; she clasped her elbows and glanced aside. “...I do hope this conflict with the Central Church won't scare away Bishop Matthew. He moved in recently and took good care of Sarah when she came down with a fever.”

Linhardt pressed his nails into his palm, hoping the guilt squirming in his gut wouldn't appear on his face as he leaned over the wall and flicked the mirror open. It shone a light down in the woods, signalling his success.

He prayed that he hadn't just become responsible for Heather's death...

“We really should make medicine more easily accessible.” He said to her.

He'd try and make sure that happened, after all of this was over. He owed her that much for what was about to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but sweet, I hope. And yes, Heather is the soldier who first asks Dimitri for mercy during the siege of Fort Merceus; she's still alive.


	10. Hilda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilda does her best to prepare Byleth for the ball and step up her matchmaking.

“Ow! Hilda, you're going to scalp me!”

“No, I will _not._ ” Hilda scoffed, brushing Byleth's bangs up over her ears. “Honestly, how could such a badass mercenary be defeated by something as easy as this? Dorothea, pass me the hairpins will you?”

“Oooh, which ones? The stars or the butterflies?”

“Ah, that's a good question! Hm...” Unfortunately, there hadn't been any crescent moon ones for sale in Anna's shop – for shame. However, after thinking about it for a second Hilda grinned – because the Blayddid Crest sort of looked like a star, right? “The stars, please! It suits her.”

“Do I get a say in any of this?” Byleth – well, there was no other word for it – _whined_ plaintively as Dorothea easily handed over the pins in her free hand. She'd trapped the mercenary's arm underneath her shoulder in order to paint her nails and was showing no signs of being perturbed by their project's continual escape attempts.

“Shh,” Hilda lightly rapped her knuckles over her teacher's skull. ( _Even months later, it still felt kinda funny to call her that – Byleth was only three years older than her, max. Even the motherly attitude she carried with her like a great broadsword couldn't really distract from that.)_ “Just let me take care of you for once. I promise, you'll thank me later.”

“The absolute hell I – ow!”

“Y'know, this would be much easier if you didn't keep flinching miss I-stepped-on-a-nail-and-didn't-notice-until-it-was-pointed-out-to-me!”

Mercedes giggled lightly, stepping around Hilda and sliding the emerald jewel necklace around Byleth's throat. “You'll look beautiful, Professor.” She said warmly.

“I'm a lot of things, 'pretty' has never been one of them.” Byleth said blankly. Hilda pouted at her; she'd figured that the life of a mercenary wouldn't give a young girl a good sense of self-image, but could her professor seriously not look in the mirror and see how pretty she was? “Sweet Sothis, do noblewomen really do this to themselves every day?”

“Only if they live in court, or work in the opera,” Dorothea hummed. “There, all done. That wasn't so bad, was it?” She let go of her right arm.

Byleth twisted a bit in the seat, lifting her silver-painted nails and stared at them like she'd never seen her hand before. Hilda regarded the ropes holding the professor in place carefully to make sure they weren't slipping again, and that they weren't scuffing her dress – it would be a pain to have to smooth it out again at this point.

It was hard enough to wrestle the Professor into the dress the first time!

“Alright, Bernie, we can probably take this off now...” Dorothea stepped over to the other chair and unwrapped the damp towel she'd bundled her nervous friend's naturally messy hair in. Bernadetta squeaked a bit, blushing and staring at her hands as Dorothea ran her fingers through her wet violet curls to check for any remaining tangles. “Perfect; now we can start straightening it. Is the iron warm, Mercedes?”

“Yes, I remembered to put it on this time.” The white-haired girl hummed merrily, drawing the necessary tool from the counter. Bernadetta squirmed at the sight of it.

“Don't worry Bern; I have plenty of experience with this,” Dorothea said, patting her friend on the head. “You're perfectly safe.”

“Allegedly,” Byleth muttered under her breath. “The next time I need to interrogate someone, I'm going to put them in this chair and tell you to do your _worst_.”

Hilda burst into a fit of giggles at just how serious she looked when saying that! “When did you get so dramatic, Professor? Picking it up from Claude?”

Tellingly, Byleth glanced away and mumbled something incoherent. _Hah,_ Hilda thought with an amused snort. _I don't know who you think you're fooling, Professor, but it's not me! You can Claude will make such a power couple! Dimitri will probably offer to officiate with the way he hovers around you two. It's the cutest thing ever._

Mercedes placed the emerald necklace in her waiting hand while Dorothea began the process of straightening Bernadetta's unruly hair. Smiling gleefully, Hilda slid it around Byleth's neck and expertly clicked it into place, leaning forward to wrap her arms around her friend's shoulders and admire her work so far. “You two are going to be the queens of the ball.” She declared.

“That's ridiculous. You and Dorothea will be there,” Byleth protested, ducking her head a bit and looking shyly at the mirror from beneath her bangs.”

“Nonsense,” Dorothea scoffed. “You two -” she lightly rapped her knuckles on Bernadetta's shoulder “-need to have more confidence in yourselves! You aren't just a pair of great warriors, you're _women_ too, and every woman should feel beautiful.”

“Dorotheaaaaa,” Bernadetta whined, looking torn between embarrassment and the edge of tears.

Mercedes reached over and squeezed her hand. “It's okay, Bern. This is going to be a happy night, I promise.”

The light-blonde girl briefly glanced at the mirror. Hilda wasn't sure how Mercedes could bounce between 'you're perfect just the way you are' and 'I'm going to kill your father, cut his body into pieces and bury one limb in each corner of Fodlan' without loosing her kind smile, but it was kinda scary.

_Not that she had a problem with cutting Maximus Varley into pieces - she would loan Mercedes and Dorothea the broadswords and take care of the alibi. Anyone who abused someone was sweet and meek as Bernadetta deserved to be fed feet-first to a demonic beast._

“Why aren't you subjecting Marianne to this? I know you two got fitted for dresses together,” Byleth mumbled.

“Because I remind Marianne every day that she's pretty and deserves good things and should go after what she wants. You, on the other hand, are too busy telling everyone else that to think about yourself, so we pick up the slack.” Hilda brandished the hairbrush at the mirror for a moment, then tugged it through Byleth's sleek dark blue locks again and slid her fingers through it.

Byleth hissed as Hilda pinned it in place with the star hairpin, the jewels twinkling in the firelight. “C'mon, grit your teeth.” The pinkette teased, repeating something the professor was fond of saying during auxiliary training battles. Judging by the _look_ Byleth gave her in response, she would be in trouble for that later. “You're almost done!”

“Are you really going to take us in through the front doors?” Bernadetta asked fretfully. “E-Everyone will look at us...I can't bear it!”

“I'll be right next to you, I promise! It'll be fun.” Dorothea promised, expertly twisting her wrist and finishing straightening the other girl's hair.

“Trust me just a bit, Professor. This is allll going to pay off,” Hilda promised slyly.

Claude was probably her first -real- friend after Baltie had to leave the Alliance. For noble children, it was hard to have relationships outside of your family ( _and even then, that wasn't guaranteed..._ ) that weren't carefully calculated to raise your status or 'mutually beneficial' partnerships. The 'snake pit' as Dorothea sarcastically but accurately described it made it _really_ difficult to figure out who was just using you for their own ends and who actually cared about you as a person.

It was ironic because when she met Claude, he was kind of in need of 'mutually beneficial allies'. She'd gone to the party where he'd been properly introduced by Judith and his grandfather; he'd been a glittering, smiling rogue with a whip-like wit who smoothly transitioned from being charming, coy and mysterious to casually outing an assassination attempt on him via poisoned wine. Without missing a beat, he'd casually sauntered over to her and introduced himself.

She'd been charmed by him, yeah, but something about his demeanor tripped what she affectionately called her 'little sister senses'.

Everyone expected so much from Holst – the ace, the hero, the all-around perfect noble heir – that they never spared a second to consider his health and happiness. Hilda had known this since she was little...waking from a bad dream, seeking out her invincible brother for comfort only to stop at the door to his bedroom. Inside, Holst had been throwing up, burning up in the throes of a fever. When she called the servants and the castle doctor took a look at him, she'd overheard the old man lecturing Holst about how he was working himself to death; his immune system had been compromised by stress.

That had been an eye opener for her...about the price of being seen as 'perfect'. And ever since then, she'd kept tabs on her brother's moods, learned to read his expressions, figure out when he was wearing himself down so she could intervene and buy him a break. If he was going to protect everyone, she should take care of him a little, shouldn't she?

It was funny, because she couldn't really pick out why Claude set off her finely tuned alarm – even now, she wasn't always certain she knew what he was thinking. But she decided that the best thing for her to do was to act like herself – her lazy, blunt, cheerful, playful self – and monopolize his attention so he could have a chance to get a break from whatever was wearing on him.

At some point, he figured out what she was doing...and that made him decide he could trust her a bit. And so Hilda netted herself an ally and a friend in the same breath, without doing any of the super forward, awkward things her father kept recommending.

She was quite happy, all things considered; Claude was as dependable and fiercely loyal as friends came. Plus he made her laugh a _lot_ ; his sense of humor was amazing. Even back then, it had reminded her of Baltie, who she'd keenly missed from the day he left. It was so good to have him around again; she'd have to finally write that letter to Holst and tell him all about their little adventure-

-er, well, excluding the homicidal golem and nearly dying a bunch part. He didn't need to know about that. ( _He'd have a freaking aneurysm and make a personal visit to Garreg Mach to check on her, it would be super embarrassing)_

Hilda hummed lightly as she put the finishing touches on Byleth's hair – she had such soft, pretty hair, _I'm **so** jealous. _“Almost done,” She repeated chidingly as the professor squirmed again.

The Professor...she was such an enigma at the beginning, yet when her real self peaked through...she was such a shy, yet endlessly caring person who barely seemed to consider herself a human being, Hilda immediately fell in platonic love with her. How could someone who was so terrifyingly powerful, competent and caring be so vulnerable at the same time?

And the fussing. Oh, the fussing...Hilda was almost afraid of the day Byleth would meet Holst. She would never get away with anything ever again. Terrifying thought.

Since she'd so clearly had similar work ethic problems to her big brother, Hilda always kept one eye trained on her professor – discreetly, of course, because Byleth would never admit that she was working herself into the ground.

That's when she noticed that sparking attraction between her two friends, and knew that she had to encourage it as much as she could. It would make both of them so happy, and that was everything she wanted for them.

So making Byleth ( _and Bernie, Bernie deserved good things too and needed to realize she was beautiful!_ ) the crown jewel of the dance? Oh, Hilda was going to take pride in this forever no matter how much of a hassle it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hilda is a great friend and I will die on this hill. I like her relationship with Holst as well, and I could easily see the toll being 'perfect' took on him as being just as much part of her reason for being lazy as the sense that she could never match up to him. I love platonic shipping her and Claude, they are best friends no matter what and it annoys the hell out of me that she can be recruited away in BL and SS. She's loyal to him, dang it!


	11. Glenn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glenn laments his lost memories when he's finally reunited with his brothers, his friend and his fiancé.

Glenn hated the black ocean in his memory. Hated it, hated it, hated it.

He didn't blame Atra for it – goddess, it was hard to blame the hollow-eyed, despairing thirteen year old he'd met after three desperately confusing weeks for anything; especially when she kept imagining that she was covered in blood that wouldn't wash out. Maybe his amnesia made forgiving her easier than it would have been if he remembered everything right away; but she cut such a sorrowful, genuinely repentant figure that all he'd felt for her was pity. A feeling that was only solidified by seeing with his own eyes the exercise in insanity that was the city of Shambhala and its cult-lords.

No, he blamed that _fucker_ Thales and his minions for stealing his _entire fucking life_ from him, just to satiate their sense of superiority and to steal land they forfeited centuries ago!

There was no word in common language to describe the panic, fear and _despair_ he'd felt in the first few days, sitting in bed, endlessly wracking his brain in a vain effort to recall something, _anything_ about himself. What could a person do if they didn't know who they were?

And yet, all he got for his efforts was a wracking headache and brief flashes – ideas, notions. Nothing concrete. No road that would take him home, no name that he could use to be guided there.

He remembered being a knight; though he couldn't remember the face of the man who'd made him one. He vaguely recalled a young boy, curled up on his legs and sleeping after a long day of training; he remembers teasing him, but his name slipped away every time Glenn grasped for it. He can just barely see a man smiling so proudly at him in his mind's eye – his father? His father... – but can't see the mansion behind him, a place he might be able to recognize if he walked by it... He would dream of soft blonde hair and a bright, warm laugh; it made his chest ache with longing, but who was there – he didn't know.

The closest he had to memories was the fractured parts of that night. Holding the arm of a precious person as they scrambled through the smoke. Hearing screaming all around him, chaos and confusion. Black cloaked ghosts with sneering pale faces attacking them at every turn. He remembers having to both fight them and protect his precious person at the same time. He recalls paying for that with a whole lot of pain.

He recalls getting to the edge of the field, even though his vision is flickering and he's loosing feeling in his limbs. Seeing someone there _(orange hair. Large shield. Eyes staring horror-struck at the bloody massacre before him_ ) and realizing with bone-deep relief that he was a friend.

Shoving his precious person into his arms. Smiling through his pain, trying to reassure the blonde boy as he screamed and pleaded for him to keep up, crying hysterically, not wanting the last thing he saw in him be the agony and fear of death. Turning back to stop the black-cloaked ghosts from following or alerting the others.

Pain. Collapsing. The fuzzy sort-of image of a girl kneeling over him, touching his neck. Then darkness.

With nothing else to go on, ( _he couldn't remember his family couldn't remember his home couldn't remember anything but brief flashes and shadowed figures that he loved so much but couldn't recall-_ ) he'd gladly joined Atra on her mission to root out Agarthan plants across Fodlan, sabotage their sabatoge efforts, and generally making their lives as miserable as possible. Beyond his desire to kick the monster's collective teeth in, he hoped that they might lead him back to that golden boy he cared about; that fighting them might throw a light into the black depths that had swallowed his memory.

Yet as the years trickled on – finding other deserters and networking with them, picking off moles that had replaced or were swaying minor and major lords alike – he was beginning to fear that it was impossible... that perhaps he _had_ taken brain damage, despite Atra examining him a few times and not thinking he'd suffered severely from lack of oxygen or head wounds, and the blow had erased his memories for good.

But that wasn't even his worst fear...after a while...

 _What would I even look like to my family now?,_ the thought curled around his mind like a venomous snake. _Would they recognize me? ...Am I still the person they lost? Or am I now just a stranger who stole a dead man's body?_

He finally got an answer to that when Felix threw himself into his arms and attempted to hug the life out of him in the burned village of Remire.

It was like the sun suddenly rising in his mind. _Felix. Felix._ The boy sleeping on his legs looked up at him, his face finally visible, regarding him with worship and adoration; the young man trying to hide his tears and begging to go with him to Duscur _to join him for that nightmare_ -

Glenn hugged him back the moment his mind cleared up, gasping, feeling Felix's trembling form wracking with repressed sobs. His little brother, his precious little brother; he'd gotten so tall! He was so much better with his sword too – he couldn't do half the things he'd noticed him pulling off while making his way back to Atra's side – so cold, so confident; h-he was so different! ( _was that right? He wasn't sure where those thoughts were coming from, everything was still fuzzy-_ ) _(four years four bloody years he lost four years of his brother's life-_ )

Just as suddenly, the blonde boy he'd run into while evacuating civilians – who'd felt so familiar, though he hadn't the time to dwell on it – snapped into place as well. _Dimitri!_ He briefly looked up from his blood brother to search for the one he chose; he found him standing a few feet away, staring at him with a tearful smile on his face. _You're safe, you're safe,_ his heart chanted in relief, a knot of worry in his throat coming undone for the first time in four years.

Then the blonde girl who'd called his name joined the hug, crying with joy as she clung to him. She felt familiar, smelled familiar, sounded familiar; her cries made his heart keen with pain. Glenn scrambled inside his mind, tugging at the half-revealed memory in search of her name... _I...Ingrid...?_ He can just see her face, see her cheering at something he said when they were standing in a warm room surrounded by plants, but the specifics escaped him. She wasn't family, wasn't – wasn't a sister to him...she was...something...?

A third figure – warm red hair, an eternal fake smile replaced with a disbelieving real one, arms winding around Glenn that were much more muscled than they were when he last saw him – joined the hug, laughing in sheer amazement and reaching up to ruffle his hair, 'now I'm tall enough to get you back!' choked out between general babble. _My friend...he's my friend...S..Syl..._

A memory bubbled up – ' _look after Felix for me, will you?'._ He smiled hesitantly at the redhead, glad that he'd kept that promise, his brother happy and capable and alive in his arms.

His happiness at this breakthrough – at suddenly finding his family, his friends, his _home –_ was stalled when Felix asked the obvious question. “Where were you? Why didn't you come home?!”

Glenn took in a shuddering breath. “I didn't remember where home was,” He rasped out; internally, he cringed at how clearly damaged his voice was.

The looks of horror and grief in his family's face shattered him into a hundred pieces.

* * *

Things were...getting better now that he was in Garreg Mach.

Sort of.

Partly.

Maybe.

The chief healer had given him a once over, confirming Atra's diagnosis that he had no severe brain damage ( _it was such a fucking relief to hear, thank the goddess_ ) and his memory loss was a result of trauma-induced amnesia. He half-wanted to go on a rant when told this, but then he'd pondered the sort-of memories he had about the battle and how much pain he'd been in at the end and realized – yeah, that checks out.

Felix came and saw him; Glenn felt his chest twinge painfully because even though he didn't know why he was so certain, it felt _wrong_ to see his little brother so severe and composed. What was particularly odd was seeing him suppress a knee-jerk reaction to Dimitri before calling for him. What had happened? _Had_ something happened? ( _why, why was he struggling to understand his own little brother, where were all his thoughts, why-_ )

His other little brother was very weepy, hugging him tightly and babbling 'I'm sorry' and 'so glad' between a string of incoherent words. Glenn felt ill when he realized how guilty the blonde must have felt after he was pulled to safety; how long had he been blaming himself for that?

And how hard would he have to work to pry him away from that belief?

Glenn did his level best to hug the life out of the prince ( _safe safe he was safe Gilbert got him out of there_ ) and murmur the reassuring words he'd spent on Atra so many times after rousing her from nightmares and fever dreams. Eventually that seemed to work, though neither Dimitri nor Felix were willing to let him get more than a dozen feet away from them for the rest of the day...

Then he'd talked to Sylvain.

Seeing the redhead bright and cheerful gave him an odd sense of relief, though that was mixed with a sort of old frustration...Glenn wasn't sure why he was so certain many of Sylvain's smiles were fake, but he was, and it bothered him. But he wasn't sure how to approach the matter, so he mostly just listened as Sylvain filled him in on some of the things he'd missed since he vanished in the aftermath of what was now called the Tragedy...

Then...

...oh, Ingrid...

His fiance. _(It sounded right it felt right but his mind was still that fathomless pitch black ocean-_ ) He'd had a knee-jerk reaction of panic, realizing that he almost ignored her the whole way back to Garreg Mach and the whole time she'd just been so glad he was alive-

Guilt. The chief healer – Manuela – told him not to feel guilty over his current memory loss; that he'd had no control over the loss and he had a good chance of recalling things over time. Yet he couldn't help it; guilt haunted him as his worried friends hovered around him, trying to indirectly bring moments or images to mind that might help him...

“I'm sorry,” He said quietly when Ingrid was showing him the greenhouse.

She jumped and turned around, confusion in her eyes. “W-What?” She asked. _(She was beautiful, her voice called to those warm dreams that had comforted him in cold and lonely nights, but he only knew fleeting things of her-)_

“I feel like I've stolen someone important from you,” Glenn confessed, finally able – for the first time – to articulate the fear that stalked him ever since the loss of his memory. “I...I can place your laugh and your smile, and yet...that's all...” He shook his head, unable to look right at her. “I must seem to you a stranger who stole a dead's man's body.”

“You...” Ingrid shook her head vehemently, swiping at her hair in a bed to hide how her eyes shone with tears. His chest tightened at the sight. “No, Glenn. I...I'm happy you're alive, do you understand? Thinking you were dead for four years...I...” She clasped her hands in front of her, shivering. “I don't care, I don't. Y-You're alive...t-that's all that matters to me!”

She hugged him a second later; he flinched and quickly wrapped an arm around her shoulders. That twisting pain in his chest grew as she hiccuped and whimpered, on the edge of tears... “I'm sorry,” he said helplessly, not knowing what else to say.

Then something struck him, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a familiar jewel that he'd held onto throughout even the worst of the money droughts he and Atra had dealt with. “Did you give me this?” He asked, opening his hand to show her the silver ring.

Ingrid blinked a few times, then smiled tearfully at him. “Y-Yes...after we got engaged, I-I wanted you to have something of mine. Y-You kept it...”

“I couldn't bear to part with it,” He admitted, instinctively trying to brush her tears away with his fingers. “We were often low on money, but something inside me always rebelled at the thought of pawning it. It was important to me, somehow.”

Ah, that was a mistake! Ingrid started to cry in earnest, clasping her hand over his and burying her head in his chest. Glenn hugged her again, silently praying that the goddess have mercy on him and return some of what had been stolen from him as he tried to comfort her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amnesia is such a common plot-point that I feel like it's lost it's impact - having amnesia, whatever the variant, is godawful! 
> 
> Glenn's biggest heartache - which he does his best to hide while continuing his Cool Big Brother antics - is Imposter Syndrome; he worries that he's a poor replacement for...well...himself, before he suffered from amnesia. That he's lost parts of himself and been rendered a hollow shell. I haven't had a lot of space in the story proper to elaborate on this, but that's hard to do when you aren't looking through the character's pov - which is what this series is for!


	12. Atra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atra remembers her sister and her home.

Fodlan was still so strange to her.

Even after four years of running to and fro across the surface, learning about their laws, their customs, and their history, Faerghus, Leicester and Adrestia were so alien in comparison to Shambhala that Atra was still so often baffled by their people.

Yuri sometimes felt like the embodiment of the oddness of the surface people; mysterious, never straightforward, seemingly whimsically bouncing between allegiances and ideas like a strong wind only to put his foot down in a situation she thought he'd say quiet on. When she'd woken up in the tunnels, groggy and dizzy from blood loss ( _she and Glenn got separated during a battle and she'd taken a few more blows than she could manage_ ) to find him looming over her, she thought she was dead – or worse. Instead he'd bound up her wounds without hesitation and sent word with a runner to their meetup point so Glenn would know where to find her...all without charge or demanding anything in return.

She'd been wary of that, only for him to laugh her questions off and say something that stuck with her...

_You don't have to say a word...people like us can recognize each other at a glance. The wolves rejected by the world..._

The comment had scared her silly for a moment; however, after a few days went by and he said nothing about Agartha, she relaxed a bit. Not enough to truly trust him, but enough to concede that Abyss was a safe place to stay...

...And at some point, the 'safe place to stay' became the closest thing she had to a home. Glenn was less enthused about being underground – _not being able to see the sky makes me feel ill and panicky,_ he explained ruefully – but it was the closest she felt to being somewhere familiar.

Some nights, when the homesickness ran deep, when the unfamiliarity of the surface world left her feeling terrifyingly alone, she would stay for a few nights. Constance would drag her into her room to discuss magical theory, Balthus would beg her to spar with him and Hapi would just sit quietly, singing songs from her home village when she sensed that sadness was choking the air out of her lungs. And Yuri...

Yuri would tease the living hell out of her. Even more than Glenn did.

It took her an embarrassingly long time to figure out he wasn't mocking or making fun of her. After the drill sargents who taught her how to fight, it was difficult to tell the difference sometimes.

“You know, you have a beautiful smile.”

Speak of the devil; Atra jerked back in her chair, nearly toppling onto the floor. Yuri stood next to her, one hand on her shoulder and wearing a familiar amused look. She blinked rapidly, wondering when she'd drifted off. “You should let it out more; hasn't that exhausted frown worn out its welcome yet?” He asked, placing a cup of sweet-smelling tea down in front of her.

“I'm sorry,” She said in the quiet confusion she reserved just for him.

“Don't apologize; I'm just wondering what I could do to make you happier,” Yuri said as he dropped into the chair across from her. “You carry sadness and regret with you everywhere like heavy shackles. I've half a mind to pick the locks.”

Atra felt her lip twitch upward, almost in spite of herself. “That's...a sweet sentiment, Yuri; but unless you can take me back in time to the Tragedy so I can warn the King he's walked into an ambush, I don't see how that's possible.”

Something flitted across Yuri's face; it was gone quickly, but Atra recognized it from looking at herself in the mirror. Guilt and regret. Not for the first time, she wondered what was in Yuri's past ( _thugs and nobles alike feared the 'Savage Mockingbird', you can't buy that kind of reaction_ ) that he wished he could take back. “Are you sure you can't remember what you did while allowing yourself to accept you were forced to participate in it?” He asked gently. “You were just a child. If you'd stood up to Odesse, he would have just killed you and replaced you with someone who without scruples.”

“I'm just worried that if I do, I'll find myself justifying other terrible things to myself as 'necessary' or something that couldn't be avoided,” Atra responded, taking a hesitant sip of the tea. Green Apple...her favorite. Of course; he always took such good care of her... “It's a slippery slope.”

“I know. There's just no need for you to torture yourself so long as you acknowledge what happened, and don't become that person again.” Yuri said.

“Is that what was said to you, after you came here?” She asked him.

Yuri's expression became rueful. “I should have figured you would catch me. ...Lady Rhea said something to that effect, yes.”

They sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the tea and quietly basking in the company of someone who understood you to the point of being a reflection of your soul. The tea was warm and soothed her throat; she'd been sobbing in her sleep again... Having to bury _her,_ see what the obsidian dagger had done to _her_ body, had stabbed into her heart with an intensity she hadn't expected...

“Your thinking about Kronya,” Yuri guessed. She sighed, looking down unseeingly at her glass. “Am I right? ...Talk to me, Atra. I have a sneaking feeling you won't let yourself vent to anyone else. 'Glenn has enough on his mind', right?”

“Well, he does,” Atra said a little defensively. “I'm not going to infringe on his time with his family...he's already lost four years with them...”

Yuri just gave her a Look at that. She sighed again, more heavily, fidgeting with her glass. “She wasn't always like that. She wasn't.”

“In my experience, no one is.”

“She was imaginative; she loved to make up stories about the surface, talked endlessly about going adventuring from one end of it to the other and sleeping under the stars. Sure, she had a temper, but that wasn't unique among the kids of our block. There were a bunch of boys in a gang that were much worse than her; we got in scrapes with them all the time. It drove mom nuts; she encouraged us to defend ourselves, but she didn't like the idea of either of us becoming 'warriors'.”

Atra took another sip, feeling her throat tighten a bit. “Kronya was the older sister, so she originally felt that it was her prerogative to protect me. So she got into a lot of fights, because I was kind of quiet and unassuming; not to mention interested in healing.”

“Healing? I didn't know that about you. I've seen you use Heal and Recover occasionally, but you mostly throw yourself into the thick of things.”

“Well...I've had need of my swords far more often. You can't stop my people simply by healing the hurts they inflict.”

Yuri gazed patiently at her, waiting for her to collect her thoughts. Atra held her cup in both hands so the heat would seep into her fingers. “But then mom was taken away. Now that I'm thinking about it, really thinking about it...I'm wondering if she wanted to take us out of Shambhala. To leave and make a new life on the surface. That level of treason would have gotten her disappeared.”

“Of all the absurd --” Yuri cut himself off with a _tsk._ “Sorry.”

“It's okay. I was so baffled to see people freely moving from one kingdom to another without any repercussions.”

Atra breathed out slowly. “All the happiness went out of Kronya that night. She got angrier and angrier, lashed out at everyone, including me. Then we entered the military...and Odesse and Thales became our parents.”

She shook her head. “Training was harsh. They were training us with live steel by the time we turned nine; I was designated as a combat healer and had to practice healing under pressure on fatally injured traitors or surfacers who'd been kept for 'training purposes'. I don't know how many bled out under my fingers until I had mastered the craft; the memories blurred together. Then there were the live fire exercises... we were armed and put in a small labyrinth with unarmed, angry, scared, confused people from the surface with instructions to kill them all. That was the day Kronya...Kronya stopped being my sister and became Thales's creature.”

She knocked her knuckles against the desk. “I remember freezing up when I came face to face with one of those people...I remember his face so clearly; he was an older man, pale and drawn and staring at me in shock. His blue eyes kept flickering to the sword I was holding as if thinking if he blinked enough times, it would disappear and some logical reason for me being there would manifest. Kronya stabbed him from behind, and he bled out at our feet. And Kronya...laughed.”

 _ha ha ha...hahahaha!_ The noise echoed in her skull, harsh and grating. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to drive it away. “She laughed and laughed, totally hysterical, tears streaming from her eyes. Then she smacked my shoulder and told me to 'get my head in game', that our evaluation was very important...then she ran off.”

“That's twisted,” Yuri murmured, revulsion washing across his face. “Faerghus is criticized in the Alliance for training their children too young, but not even the most aggressive of their nobles gives children under fifteen live swords expecting them to use them. Not unless something truly dire has happened. ...He ruined your sister. He treated both of you with no more dignity than attack dogs.”

“I know. I know what Kronya's done. I know how many innocent people she killed in her feverish desire to serve Thales. I _know._ ”

“Except?” He prodded gently.

Atra squeezed her eyes shut, feeling them burn. A painful knot of emotions twisted up in her chest, threatening to suffocate her. “Then...why am I...mourning? Why...do I want to cry, despite everything she did...?”

Yuri reached over and clasped her hand. “No matter what she did, she's your sister. She was stolen from you. There's nothing wrong with what your feeling.” He squeezed her wrist gently. “Stay down here, Atra...and cry. Don't apologize for grieving for your sister. Even Byleth won't deny you that.”

“B...But...”

“Atra. It's okay. ...I'm here for you.”

The moments blurred together in Atra's mind. In one moment, she was sitting in her chair, trying to will her emotions back into her chest. Then she was standing up, cradled in Yuri's arms as she cried heavily into his chest, weak as a newborn kitten. She cried like she was exorcising years of pain out in every breath she took.

“ _Shall we bring down some stars from mom, when we get to the surface?” Kronya asked, kicking her feet in the warm pool water and gazing up through the long metal square tube that served as their only window to the sky. “I'll get some for you too, but we should make mom some hairclips outta them, right? She's always pulling at her bangs, and it would be a perfect mother's day gift.”_

_Her smile was bright and mischievous. “So don't tell her! Don't even hint at it! We need it to be a surprise.”_

“ _I won't tell her,” Atra promised. Then she shrieked when one of the other girls – Sophie, her name was Sophie – splashed her with a wall of water as she grabbed the ball that had been tossed to her by one of her friends. A wave of shrieks and laughter rang out across the pool, the girl who'd thrown it wearing a significant 'uh-oh' look on her face._

_Grinning gleefully, Kronya launched herself back into the pool, declaring “You realize that this means war, Sophie! War!” Sophie shrieked with laughter and tried to get the ball – that had slipped from her fingers when she went underwater – but Kronya got it first, whipping the soft air-filled ball back at her face. Giggling as she rubbed water from her eyes, Atra followed her back into the water to join the game._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that I didn't really have Atra react to her sister's death to focus on Byleth and Marianne, so it's time that I fixed that a bit. Have a little Yuri-Atra cuteness and a peak into a moment of everyday life in Agartha.


	13. Yuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri has spent much of his life witnessing people be their worse selves. That's what makes Byleth Eisner such a bizarre person.

“ _Always expect the worst from people and you will never be disappointed._ ”

That axiom had ruled Yuri's life from the moment he'd been old enough to understand it. ( _He hadn't been called Yuri back then, but this was the identity he had lived in the longest, he was almost fond of it at this point._ ) He'd always been poor, his mother struggling to find work that would put food on the table and keep the house warm without sacrificing her dignity. She had always smiled and hidden how burdened she was, but he'd always had a sharp eye, and had heard her crying over empty cabinets and coffers, wondering if they would survive the winter.

She loved him so much, rather than curse him as a burden as many mothers consigned to the streets _(prostitutes and disowned heiresses, women that nobles had used and then discarded when they tired of them_ ), that she was without question the most important person in his life. He'd decided very young that he had decided to strike out and find whatever way he could to get extra money to her...and had quickly learned how cruel the world was.

Yuri almost preferred being in combat. At least enemy soldiers tended to look at him like he was a human being ( _though there were exceptions, obviously_ ).

He remembered being beaten by guardsman who exclusively referred to him as a rat. He remembered the way nobles veered away from them ( _when they noticed him at all_ ) before he'd even tried to make a move toward them, their noses wrinkled in disgust or their hands tugging their children away in fear. He remembered how nobles would walk right over him, stepping on him, treating him like he didn't exist.

He quickly learned that the nobles and the Emperor cared nothing for the people they ruled over, only that they existed as a symbol of their power and useful tools for achieving their desires. Nothing more...occasionally less.

He'd hated it, childishly ranted at the unfairness of it to his mother. She'd smiled tiredly throughout, gently if firmly reminding him to be careful who he said such things around. Occasionally when he'd been particularly beaten up, she'd begged him to stop, no matter how much money he brought back. _'You're my treasure, my darling dove,'_ she'd whispered while cradling him in her arms, treating his bruises and scrapes. She'd been training to be a healer, only for a soldier to knock her up and then abandon her once she became pregnant; she had to drop her classes and find two different jobs in the shops their slum was home to in order to keep a roof over their heads. Knowing this only made him resent the nobility and their 'puppets' as he'd called them with a seething hatred.

Which is why, when a noble caught him sneaking around his mansion, he offered him a high-paying job instead of disposing of him – to assassinate the daughter of his rival, Maximus Varley.

Yuri hadn't told his mother the details, knowing she would flip out and demand he not do this, would have uprooted them and moved away to escape the noble despite the fact they'd have an even-odd chance of starving to death by such a move. He'd thought it would be easy – kill some whining, selfish, egotistical spoiled brat who threw stones at the starving children like him to amuse themselves and he and his mother would be set for the next three years. He'd killed a number of times before, had hardened his heart to it.

Or so he'd thought.

Bernadetta had greeted him without suspicion or the sick glee of having a new 'toy' to play with. _(Rather unlike her father, who'd looked down at him like he was a particularly repellent insect for all the five seconds he'd acknowledged his presence._ ) In fact she didn't look down at him at all; she'd latched onto him and treated him as the most precious person in her world, following him everywhere and hanging on his every word. She'd laughed at his jokes and listened attentively to his explanations to how to care for the garden. She was clumsy, yeah, but she never did any harm on purpose. And watching how her father treated her...

Goddess, but it was both pitiful and rage inducing. Yuri had seen horses treated with more compassion than Maximus Varley spared for his daughter, his own flesh and blood. ( _At least his own father had the decency to die in a skirmish a year after abandoning them._ ) Lady Varley wasn't treated any better, battered to the point that her resistance to him was on a low simmer rather than at a constant boil as it had been when he first arrived at the house.

Bernadetta was so completely alone, and so, so afraid. Yuri remembered walking through the house only to suddenly hear screaming coming from the attic, followed by thumping. He'd slipped away from his handler and found the attic door, only to be genuinely stunned for the first time in years to hear Bernadetta desperately screaming within.

_I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'll be quiet I'll be poised I'll do better in my dancing I promise I'll practice until I drop I won't disappoint you please please let me out! Let me out, please, it's swallowing me! I can't see, I can't, I c-can't- I'm sorry, I'll be good, I-I'll be goood...(sob)... please, please, please..._

He'd broken into the room and provided a candle for her to keep the darkness at bay. He couldn't let her out, no matter how badly he'd wanted to; if Maximus knew his punishment had been subverted, he'd simply extend it. As he'd stumbled back into the garden, his heart aching painfully and his mind hazed over with a mixture of horror and rage, he'd come to a disquieting realization-

He cared about her. He cared about that silly noble girl that he had been sent here to assassinate. He...he wanted to stay her friend, to mitigate the horrors her father was inflicting on her. He didn't want to be one more person treating her like she was less than worthless.

When the noble had contacted him demanding to know what the holdup was (it was supposed to be a three week job), he'd put all his (even then) considerable power of persuasion into attempting to shift the target of the murder attempt to the house's patriarch, suggesting that Bernadetta becoming a ward to her single mother would put him in a more advantageous position than if he was faced with an angry man who's heir had been murdered.

Unfortunately ( _it had worked so many times before_ ) the noble was not swayed; he insisted that if Maximus Varley was the one who died, he would be the first suspect. Then he'd threatened to withhold the reward if he didn't follow the plan.

He should have known he wouldn't be able to do it before Maximus caught him standing in her room, fumbling with the dagger, unable to talk himself into going through with it.

Yuri thought, amidst the hazy, agonizing memories of the beating he'd been given ( _he'd seriously almost died, if he hadn't called for his gang in preparation for potentially abandoning the job_ ), had thought he might have heard Bernadetta screaming for him from an upper window.

Wistful thinking, no doubt. She'd just discovered he'd befriended her in the name of assassinating her...why would she feel any pity at his death?

( _He really hoped that her mother would keep standing up for her._ )

His mother had been distraught. What's worse, the scale of his injuries had resulted in him coming down _hard_ with a plague that swept through the slum mere weeks later. Death was sitting at his bedside once again, checking his watch, waiting to see if it was his time.

That's when that old man had appeared and showed him humans could still be kind.

* * *

Yuri was used to people behaving in a certain way. While his stance on humanity in general had softened to an extent, he was entirely used to living on that axiom that had continued to save his life since that day. So when he and his wolves ( _a small part of him mildly observed the connotations of calling them 'his wolves'; he told that part to cram it and not distract him_ ) found a group of nosy young nobles creeping down into Abyss ( _home, the first place he'd ever truly called home_ ) after all the attacks they'd been dealing with over the past month, he'd thought nothing of pulling their forces together to capture them.

He'd nearly doubled over in shock when he saw Bernadetta among them; it took him a second to recognize her ( _and for a scary second, he'd thought she might have recognized him_ ) because she was standing rather straight rather than cowering, and walking with more confidence than he remembered, for all that she was clinging to Eisner. He really should have taken her presence as a clue, but he'd figured that she could have easily been browbeaten into participating in a raid and went forward, deciding he could pull her aside and still get answers.

 _Boy_ had he been wrong!

( _He remembered the moment Byleth Eisner's eyes had gone from calm and worried, more inclined to keep trying to defuse the situation, to a raging fury when Balthus had threatened her students. He had only been genuinely terrified a few times in his life, and_ that _was one of them._ )

Thankfully for all of them, Eisner and her students ( _including the Prince of Faerghus, the upcoming Duke Riegan, and the Princess of Adrestia...Sothis above, how many of the power-grubbing greedy fools he had met would_ kill _to be in Eisner's shoes?_ ) had no interest in killing them. Hell, in that whole mess of a misunderstanding, they hadn't killed a single one of his people in spite of Hapi siccing a wyrm on them. At the end of the day ( _being picked up by Sir Jeralt had been an alarming experience – almost disappointing, he'd really wanted to defeat Riegan but their little dance had been inconclusive._ ) the group of students were dirty, tired and supremely aggravated, but not murderous.

That would have been surprising enough.

“ _We can help you._ ”

Yuri knew how to read people. ( _It was a skill one developed when they dealt with dirty old men demanding that they sing, with lords who looked at them with predatory eyes while offering them a place in their home._ ) He knew deceit and avarice when he saw it. He knew when the gears were grinding in someone's mind, and Byleth Eisner was not a woman who knew how to hide her emotions; she was an open book.

There was nothing but sincerity in those dark blue pools. She was a little surprised with herself, a little chagrined for volunteering her students without asking them first, but she fully, truthfully was offering her help to a group of street rats she'd _just_ been in a violent scuffle with. She didn't demand anything in return, asking her father to make sure her other students wouldn't be neglected while she tried to get to the bottom of this.

Yuri wasn't used to feeling confounded by a person. It was a little alarming. So while he invited her and her friends into Abyss, he kept a hawk eye on her, waiting for some sort of tell that would give him a window into her brain.

...And kept watching, and kept watching, into the next day...

...And yet by the end, the only thought in his mind was – ' _this woman is the Ashen Demon? ...Her?'_

Eisner was subdued, true – almost unnaturally so. Emotions came out of her in erratic bursts, when she was amused by a pun Goneril had made or exasperated by Riegan's antics or fretting over Blayddid when he got lost in his own mind. It was as if half the time, she wasn't sure of what she was feeling or what to make of it. It was a little off-putting, and more than a little strange...but it just reinforced that she was not being deceptive. She had no agenda of her own, didn't expect anything from him in return for her help...she just wanted to help him. Help them.

It was...so strange. And yet – it gave him hope. Maybe this was the way he'd get out from under Aelfric's thumb, save his mother and the other Ashen Wolves from his manic desire to resurrect someone from his past. She wielded the Sword of the Creator...that kind of power had no match. If she was genuinely this softhearted, in spite of everything that had been said about her, could he...just ask her for help?

Yuri shied away from the thought. It went against everything he'd learned to stay alive.

* * *

Byleth Eisner and her students were an eclectic bunch.

Riegan was a gem. Yuri was rapidly growing far fonder of the brown-haired menace than he felt was safe, given that he could see the secrets lingering behind that cheerful smile and irreverent jokes. Ah, if only those emerald eyes didn't linger on Eisner and Blayddid...Yuri hadn't fallen so easily into a rhythm with someone else in years, and Claude was gorgeous. Clearly partly foreign, which would explain the secrets, but _oh_ did it smart to see such a clever beauty and know that he was too late to catch him. At least they could be friends, if Claude decided it was safe enough to lower his barriers.

( _When had he started thinking about making friends? When...had he become fond of Balthus, Constance and Hapi this quickly?)_

Blayddid...he was genuinely sweet and earnest and kind in a way men of his stature so rarely were. Yet there was rage and grief bubbling underneath that mask of chivalry and honor, rattling the chains binding them every time he went into battle. Although he was worried about what might become of Dimitri when those chains finally broke ( _it was because of the tragedy, no one can hold that kind of anguish and rage inside them indefinitely, humans simply weren't built like that-_ ) he wasn't...as worried as he probably should be. That kindness was real, in spite of the darkness lingering underneath. He hadn't met many people so warm and gentle.

Bernadetta...well, she was still scared of seemingly everything, and clung to Byleth or Claude – Riegan – ( _already using their first names? What's going on with you, Yuri?_ ) for security. Yet she seemed...happier. A bit more confident. She kept glancing at him when she thought he wasn't looking, suggesting that he _wasn't_ going to get out of having to admit that yes, he was her old 'friend' who'd been sent to assassinate her.

Ashe had been a pleasant surprise. He remembered the sweet, shy boy who had always had time for him at the social events Count Rowe had allowed him to attend; privately he thought him rather unsuited for martial pursuits, but he knew how the Kingdom valued Knighthood, and he had no business telling Ashe how to live his life. The fact that the kid had remembered him, and immediately offered to 'take him home' ( _he wouldn't have known what kind of man ruled that particular 'home', there was nothing but oblivious kindness in that offer-_ ) was...surprisingly touching.

Goneril was chipper, and almost exactly as Balthus had described her – friendly, kind of oblivious and lazy, but had a good heart underneath all that. Edelgard...was an enigma; she seemed pleasant and awkward in her own way, but something about her that made him uneasy. Herving was absolutely nothing like his father, which was very nice...no wonder he was so tired, though, living in a house with that man.

Then there was Eisner herself...

She was, in turns, awkward and shy then protective and fierce. She hovered over her friends like a fretful mother owl, always in a position to intervene when they got in trouble. _(It was downright supernatural how she managed to always,_ _ **always**_ _arrive in time to block an attack or push them out of the way. It made one wonder..._ ) That wasn't odd in and of itself...what was odd was how quickly she latched onto _him_ and the wolves. Bringing them under her motherly cloud and acting as protective of them as if they'd been her students all along.

It was...nice. Yuri was used to being the one who took care of everyone, he'd almost forgotten what it was like to be a protectorate. At least one that belonged to such a determined and dangerous woman. ( _Only his mother worried about him this much, fussed this much, cared this much-_ )

He almost wanted to tell her to stop, that he wasn't worth it, that he was using her and didn't deserve it _don't you know what kind of person I am, what I've had to do to stay alive, why are you looking at me in that soft and caring way-?_

She jumped in front of him to block a lance. Yuri didn't even see her or the specter coming; how had she-? The Sword of the Creator shattered the phantom guardian in a single blow; she turned around and looked him up and down, reassuring herself that he was alright.

“Be careful,” She said quietly, giving him a small, sweet smile.

Yuri couldn't form a response to that, his throat strangely tight, before she zipped off to extract Ashe from the corner he'd gotten stuck in.

* * *

Byleth was dying. She was dying right in front of them and she was dying because she went back to save him-

Yuri was barely conscious of nudging a dumbstruck Claude to the side ( _he would crumble if he lost her, she was his emotional anchor, his closest friend, he would never open himself up to another person in fear of being greeted with nothing but pain-_ ) and unhooked the Chalice from her belt with strangely steady hands. “Guys, come here, quickly,” He ordered, giving his friends a meaningful look. He'd told them the legends and they knew what he was planning to do.

They didn't waste a second; Constance sank to her knees next to her despite how terribly gray she was, equally worried and determined for the dying professor cradled in her father's arms. Balthus was next, his expression dark with worry – fear the ritual wouldn't work, fearing it would fail the way it did in ancient times – grabbing the knife from Yuri's belt and slitting his palm as Hapi joined the circle.

“W-What are you doing?” Linhardt managed, finally snapping out of his panic as he sank to the ground, still giving Byleth a lifeline of healing via his crest magic.

“Something only the four of us can do,” Yuri responded, setting the crest on Byleth's chest. “Hold her still, Jeralt. We don't want this thing tipping over mid-ritual.”

Jeralt obeyed, Hilda dropping to the ground and grabbing her legs to help. Dimitri looked like he was fighting not to cry, desperate hope in his expression as he watched them cut their palms and add their blood to the chalice one by one.

One thing was running through Yuri's mind when he began the ritual, his heart leaping with relief when the Chalice lit up with power.

_He staggered, collapsing against the wall. His lungs were screaming at him, his head spinning from the white-hot pain lancing through his leg. He had to keep moving, he knew it, but his limbs were locking up from exhaustion, he couldn't maintain his invisibility anymore – he didn't have the power for it. His mother needed him, his **people** needed him, he couldn't die here... he didn't want to die...he wasn't ready..._

_There was a flicker of color; he raised his head and stared in disbelief as Byleth shot out of the safety of the other side of the gate, reaching him in mere moments. “Give me your arm,” She said urgently; she was so gray she looked half-dead, he could see little crackles of magic wreathing around her hands as she pushed her magic – whatever it was that made her clairvoyant, nothing else made sense how she was always saving them at the last moment – yet she was still using it to reach him -_

_Don't, he tried to say, only to cough harshly as the words tried to slip out. Byleth's eyes flared nonetheless, grabbing his arm and slinging it over her shoulder before firing Bolganone over her shoulder._

_She didn't need to speak, her feelings washed over him with that one look. The determination, the indignation, the flat, blunt refusal of the utilitarian logic. **Don't you dare tell me not to save you. You are MINE, I swore I would protect you and nothing, not even death, is enough to make me stop.**_

_And she did. She dragged him through that gate, practically throwing him at Balthus so she was the last person to step into safety._

The magic that filled the room, practically blinding Yuri, was so powerful it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The air around him _crackled_ with the ancient magic, so heavy and tangible he feared for a second that the magic of _life_ would burn them all alive for attempting to conjure it. Then all at once it faded, whirling into Byleth's body like a whirlpool being pulled to the bottom of the ocean. As Yuri blinked the white spots out of his vision, closing his hand ( _he could feel the chalice pulling blood out of him to meet the rituals demands, he was so dizzy right now-_ ) the magic swirled into her and finally disappated.

The Chalice fell off her chest. Yuri caught it offhandedly, cringing as the movement made his head spin. But when he looked at her and lay a hand on her neck, he realized – to his incredulous delight – that it had worked.

The color was back in her face, she was breathing deeply and evenly, and her body had ceased jerking unnaturally. The broken magic was gone as well. “She's safe,” He said, and was startled by how much audible relief was in his voice.

Jeralt...all but crumbled; all his famous strength bled out of him as he swept his daughter up in his arms and hugged her against his chest. Claude screwed up his eyes and bowed his head, desperately trying to hide his relived tears; Dimitri didn't bother, sobbing openly and grabbing her hand to feel her pulse, reassure himself it was true. Hilda buried her head in Balthus's shoulder and laughed shakily while Bernadetta hugged Ashe while yelling in relief, her voice cracking from overuse throughout this nightmare. Linhardt cautiously took the Chalice from him and quickly cast Heal on him and the other wolves in succession, mumbling something about how they should stand up slowly and lean on them to make it back to Abyss proper, the ritual had demanded a lot of blood. He looked totally in awe, while Edelgard was floored, staring at the chalice with new eyes.

 _...I owe you, Byleth..._ Yuri thought, staring at her sleeping/comatose face. _Whatever I can do for you, name it and its yours. I...I just hope you'll tell me why. W...why do you care about me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuri's backstory is really frickin' grim, even by the standards of the officer's academy students! Seriously! I was mortified at the clear hinting that he spent time as a prostitute when I factored in his age, *especially* the broad hint that Count Rowe adopted him for less-than-egalitarian reasons. (whether or not Yuri was planning to capitalize on that, if it's true, Count Rowe needs to DIE just like Maximus Varley.) Pondering the kind of baggage that Yuri is hiding Claude-style behind all his teasing is just...sad. Really, really sad. 
> 
> I want to give Yuri all the hugs and good things. There needs to be a Yuri Protection Squad, dang it!


	14. Sylvain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain ponders his troubles with women and his brother, and tries to learn more of what happened to Glenn in the missing years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darn it, Sylvain, give me your brain. Why was figuring this out so complicated???

Sylvain hated his Crest since the first time Miklan pushed him into the fireplace over it.

For what little it did give him ( _enhanced strength in tense situations, the ability to use the Lance of Ruin and its magical power, a 'defense piercing power' that allowed him to crack bones and hit through magical resistance in battle_ ) it took away something he valued a lot more – a family that loved him, a potential spouse who valued him as a human being rather than a meal ticket, a sense that any of his accomplishments were actually his own rather than something that was just handed to him by some supernatural whim.

He'd quickly learned to smile on the outside and seethe on the inside when it came to these feelings, however. Whenever he'd voiced them, he was barraged with insults and remonstrations for 'not appreciating the goddess's blessing' and 'making a mockery of his duty'. So he'd kept quiet, leaving his resentment on a low simmer while he smiled and charmed his way through life.

At the back of his mind, he knew it wasn't very good for him – the way he was dealing with his feelings, or more accurately _not_ dealing with them.

Byleth's disappointed glare when she found him when one of his would be girlfriends – who he'd instinctively dumped when she started talking about a long-term relationship, _because that's when they typically started talking about babies and what court would be like and he realized what they really wanted_ – had fled their conversation in tears would have been bad enough. She was like an extra-strength version of Ingrid: she cared so much about you, you instinctively cringed when you realized you'd disappointed her.

But what was even worse was the blunt conversation she'd had with him afterwards.

_'Do you know why she's crying? ...Some nobles play this little game when they're at odds with their wives for one reason or another. They find some impoverished young woman...shower her with gifts, praise and attention, charm her until she agrees to come into their bed...then when they tire of her, they dispose of her. Like garbage. Like she's less than worthless...'_

He'd wanted to protest, to argue, to vehemently complain that that's how they were treating him – as a means to an end – but thinking about Lila's heartbroken tears made the words die in his throat. Bleakly Sylvain wondered if he was about to do the same thing as Miklan; blame other people for decisions he'd made on his own free will. In the end all he'd mumbled was “ _that's not what I intended...really, professor.”_

Then Byleth had surprised him. “ _I know,_ ” She said, her voice still stern but a touch softer. Sylvain remembered blinking and looking up at her, unsure what to make of that. “ _You're not a cruel person, Sylvain. You can be pretty careless, but you don't intentionally step on people without a care. ...You don't have to tell me why you feel the need to act this way. Just don't ever loose sight of your best self, alright? This...this isn't the real you.”_

She tilted her head. “ _And I think there's a woman out there who would love the real you very much._ ”

Sylvain had wondered – in quick succession – if she was being sarcastic, if she was just that naive, or if she was deliberately guilting him. But the thing about Byleth was that she didn't _do_ subtle needling like that. She was either blank and reserved or completely transparent in her emotions; seesawing between the two with that endearingly awkward uncertainty that was uniquely her.

Sylvain kind of trusted her because of that.

When he'd first flirted with her, she'd stared blankly at him and then glanced over her shoulder as if expecting to see some woman behind her who was the actual target of his attentions. After that, half the time she didn't seem to realize he was flirting with her, while the other half she plainly didn't think he meant any of the things he said to her so she just nodded and continued on whatever she was doing without stopping. Not many women (aside from Ingrid, who didn't count because she was his childhood friend and still in love with Glenn after all this time-) ever treated his advances that way.

Which was kind of sad, because he did think she was beautiful, and to some degrees kind and wise as well. The repeated spikes of resentment he felt toward her for how little her Crest affected her life (or at least, how little it _had_ affected her life before she picked up the _bloody Sword of the Creator_ and revealed herself to be its inheritor) just made him feel sort of dirty considering how much she looked out for him regardless of the fact that he technically wasn't one of her students.

That being the reason she'd bluntly shut him out of the mission to retrieve the Lance of Ruin and take down Miklan what felt like forever ago.

He'd really been of two minds on her reaction. One part of him had been seriously frustrated; he'd _wanted_ some kind of final showdown with Miklan, his tormentor since childhood, the brother he'd wanted to love even after the first time he'd engineered a 'hunting accident' for him in hopes of regaining what he thought had been stolen from him. He'd wanted to finally slap chains on him and solidify once and for all – to both of them – that he hadn't deserved what his brother had done to him.

_Ten year old Dimitri had let out a loud cry of distress and alarm when he saw him wrapped in bandages, lying across the bed, rushing to his side and demanding to know what happened while examining him frantically. Felix had freaked out, while Ingrid whirled around and started yelling at his father's retainers, demanding to know why they'd let this happen. Thirteen year old Glenn was the calmest, though that didn't count for much considering his eyes grew really wide and the blood drained out of his face. Not a whole lot fazed his friend, who alternated between casually acing the new harsh training regimes and taking out a couple of bandits who'd broken into the mansion while his father was away, so it was both a heartening and startling sight._

_He'd tried to brush it off, bragged to Felix that he already had battle scars to attract the ladies (much to Dimitri's consternation). As the older retainer (who had trained Miklan, almost raised him when their parent's distress over his lack of a crest caused them to neglect him, and disliked Sylvain just a little less than Milkan himself did) explained the 'hunting accident', Glenn's blue eyes narrowed and his expression grew steadily darker. When he finished, he calmly suggested that the others go make him some sort of sweet...and politely but sternly chased off the retainers when they attempted to remain behind._

'You're a good horseman, Sylvain. You didn't just blunder into a creek that we've run by hundreds of times now. What happened?'

 _He'd tried to squirm out of it, but Glenn had deflected one excuse after another until he'd finally sputtered out the truth, blinking furiously to drive away his tears. When he finished, Glenn's expression went curiously blank._ 'I see...'

'What are you thinking'? _He'd asked uncertainly, a little intimidated by the look on his usually friendly companion's face._

 _Glenn didn't respond for a moment; then he smiled gently at him._ 'Don't mind me. I was just thinking.' _He opened his mouth to inquire further, but Dimitri and Felix burst in moments later bearing peach sobret, ending the conversation._

 _He didn't see Glenn for a few hours on the final day of his visit. Yet when both he and Miklan were summoned to see the royal party off, he was stunned to find Miklan nursing a broken arm and a black eye. His brother was glaring thunderously right up until Glenn, one arm around Felix's shoulders, said his own goodbyes and_ 'hopes that no more frightening accidents befall you in the near future'.

_Miklan's response was a full-body flinch. He mumbled a thank you, and didn't speak to or even look at Sylvain for the rest of the week._

Yet Sylvain knew why she'd done it. He'd hardly been oblivious to Ashe's complete devastation after the mess of the Magdred Way mission and Lord Lonato's death; it was also abundantly obvious that Byleth was kicking herself for allowing him to join the Golden Deer for the mission. ( _When you're seemingly emotionless, your strong reactions to events stick out all the more_.) He'd lost any chance of being able to tag along when she was told of his relationship with Miklan; she was probably under the impression that there was some sort of love between them and firmly rejected the idea of forcing him to go through what Ashe was still struggling with, even now.

It was both frustrating and oddly touching. Sylvain was used to being fussed over -to a degree-, but it didn't often have much to do with care for him as a person.

It made him wonder how a woman like Byleth got a title as foreboding as 'The Ashen Demon'. She clearly deserved something that suited her better...something like 'Light of Hope', Saint Cethleann's personal moniker. Somedays she...she kind of reminded him of Glenn. Stupidly capable, completely terrifying yet a gentle person underneath.

So it would just figure that following Byleth into battle caused him to be reunited with that stupid scarred idiot, wouldn't it?

* * *

“-nearly lost my damn head, would have if the Professor hadn't pulled me down out of the way at the last second! The Umbral Beast – er, that's what Seteth called it – was really loosing it after we finally managed to cut one of its legs off; it was building up to use that magic scrambling attack and Dimitri darted right past me to throw his lance into its neck, powered up by his Crest. What he planned to do if the damn thing _landed_ on him, I couldn't tell you, I thought the Professor was going to kill him after we got out of the way.”

Glenn shook his head disbelievingly, pushing loose strands of his long hair out of his face. Sylvain did his best not to cringe at the painful-looking burn scar that spiraled across his left cheek and over the bridge of his nose. He was good at it – he'd seen plenty of bad scars over the years, it came with the territory of being a lord surrounded by knights – but it was different with Glenn. He'd always seemed invincible, untouchable, even lingering that way in his memory after they'd gotten news of his 'death'. Seeing him with so many scars was...sobering. “That moron,” He groused, the rasp of his voice less noticeable with strong emotion in his voice. “It just figures that everyone I look after has no bloody common sense. Atra's just as bad.”

Sylvain fought the urge to grin at the perfect segue. He was dying to know anything about the mysterious renegade girl who had saved his friend's life; he'd hoped to speak to her himself, but she seemed to be hiding away – probably nervous about how she might be received, being Agarthan by birth. As if that mattered anymore!

She was exotic, pale as a Yuki-Ona beneath her burn scars, her hair black as the night sky and her dark blue eyes so solemn, so sad; there was a trace of an accent to her voice that made her words roll in a coy manner. A girl who abandoned honor, safety, the only home she ever knew to do what was right by foreign people – a heroine right out of a story book! Hopefully they could coax her out into the sunlight soon. “She's that determined to protect you?” He asked teasingly.

Glenn snorted and rolled his eyes. “There goes your mind again.” He blinked a few times – like he was startled by what he'd just said, and was trying to remember where it came from. Sylvain pretended not to notice, so he wouldn't be distressed at another failure to remember. “She was a kid when we first met. She – she was seriously just a child, not old enough to squire; they threw her out there anyway. As a healer, technically, but that's no excuse.”

“She was a kid?” Sylvain repeated, frowning and doing a bit of mental math. “...How old is she now?”

Glenn gave him a flat look. “Seventeen.”

“W-Wait, what? Seriously?!” He gawked at his friend in disbelief.

“As the grave,” The older Fraldarius said sourly. “She just...sort of slipped into the space that Felix occupied before I lost my memory. She has an older sister...technically...but that girl's a basket case thanks to Thales and his generals. I think sticking together did both our heads a great deal of good beyond all the other stuff we were doing.”

Glenn rubbed his temple, leaning back in his chair and grabbing another snack off the tray provided for them. They were in the tree-shaded communal area outside of the monastery, relaxing on their day off. Dimitri had been pulled aside by Claude for something ( _Sylvain was beginning to concoct certain theories about how at ease Dimitri was in the brunette's presence, and how much time he spent with him. Theories that made him want to grin and say things like '_ _ **it's about time**_ _'_ ) while Felix and Ingrid were temporarily preoccupied helping the blacksmith. So that left him to hang around with Glenn and try to fill in those four missing years between them.

“Define 'basket case',” Sylvain asked.

Glenn sighed. “Psychotic assassin completely loyal to Thales, who believes all the nonsense he feeds his trapped people about the surface and us.”

Sylvain winced sympathetically. _Ow. There's something that sounds a little familiar. Maybe at some point we can reminisce over how those who should be imparting wisdom and guidance on us instead fucked up our families beyond repair._ “What do you mean by saying the Agarthan people are 'trapped'? If the way their army keeps sneaking up to screw with us, they obviously can get out of the city beneath the surface.”

An entire city state beneath the surface...if he'd been told a story like that by anyone other than Glenn, he would have laughed it off as someone who couldn't tell fact from fiction and fable. Now however it just kind of scared him, yet also tugged at his imagination. How was that even possible?

Glenn shook his head, his eyes darkening significantly. “ _Only_ the army is allowed to leave, and they only travel to target points under strict direction. Thales and his council control who remains in Fodlan for 'infiltration purposes', and even those people are frequently questioned to ensure they aren't 'being seduced by the wild savage world'.” That reminded Sylvain of many things he'd heard being slung at Duscur and its people after the Tragedy. “Everyone else is kept in Shambhala, never to step onto grass under the sunlight unless they succeed in 'winning back the surface'. Thales and those who came before him gave all sorts of reason for it, but I suspect the real reason is that they fear loosing their grip on the people, that being able to meet us peaceably will drain them of any desire for war and 'reclaiming what was stolen'. If you try to leave anyway, that makes you a traitor.”

“That's...nuts. Moving to another kingdom isn't any of the lord's business.” Sylvain protested. “Unless they're taking army information to the enemy, what does it matter where they go?”

Glenn's dark look somehow intensified. “Don't try to ascribe reason to any of the lords of Shambhala, Sylvain. They...” He struggled for a moment, then blew out a breath. “I've been inside that city-state once; rescuing a young girl – Dimitri's cousin, I now realize.” Sylvain must have made quite the startled face, because Glenn's expression softened a bit. “Yes, I told him; yes, she's safe in Duscur. Ironically enough.” He sighed. “I've been in Shambhala. On the surface...it almost seems like a paradise, if you aren't troubled by the lack of wind and natural sunlight. The old knowledge there – magical technology – provides the commoners comforts that ours only dream of. But it doesn't take long before you start to see the evil that...” Glenn bit his lip.

Sylvain hadn't ever seen Glenn at loss for words about something like this. It made his stomach flip over. “Tell me the story from the beginning?” He suggested.

Glenn thought for a moment, then nodded. “It's a long one.”

“Cool.”

He wanted to know what his basically-brother had been dealing with while far from home. He wanted to know what was in store for them from Atra's abusive lords... because what happened in Remire was not going to be the last cruelty they had in store for the surface.

And he was determined to be ready to protect his precious people this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because my muse as no chill and operates on 150% efficiency when it comes to this story, I could write an entire mini-arc about Glenn and Atra's trip into Shambhala to rescue Rufus Blayddid's illegitimate daughter. I might write it as a side story, if you guys are interested in it. 
> 
> I was surprised to look through my supports to realize that I'd never married Sylvain in any of my SS files. (I always marry Claude when I play Golden Deer. Always.) I really like him, and I find his relationship with Byleth quite compelling. Of course I partly focused on him and Glenn this time at the suggestion of a few of the readers, because I quickly found that I love Glenn and his interactions with the Blue Lions kids. 
> 
> Sylvain would absolutely flirt with Atra and she would be *so confused* by it. (sighs and stares regretfully at the Support Log) I really need to get back to that!


	15. Lorenz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorenz deals with the aftermath of Varley's attack on Hrym and rethinks a few things.

“ _A nobleman's duty is to his people. Without the people you are no one._ ”

Lorenz had always suspected that, despite how much his father had drilled those words into his mind and etched them into his soul with a broadsword, he didn't believe them. He knew for a fact that many lords did not believe them for all they professed the opposite; Professor Byleth had remarked on several occasions when discussing missions that had pitted Jeralt's Mercenaries against low – and – mid-ranking lords about the corrosive effect power so often had on people's souls. It was an odd thing, where a situation made intellectual sense but simultaneously completely lacked in logic.

He'd been aware of the people he would rule over in a very personal way ever since he was young. His mother, a solemn and reclusive woman who was cool to him and colder to his father, had encouraged him to take an active interest in the commonfolk; he'd taken her advice to heart and after a while came to a single thought-

-he could not fathom how someone could know they were responsible for the lives of other human beings and not take that responsibility seriously.

Maximus Varley had shot right past what he usually expected of foul noblemen into the realm of what months ago he would have dismissed as fable nonsense meant to demonize the nobility.

Professor Byleth had skidded to a halt next to him at some point ( _he'd lost sense of time scrabbling through the burning, broken city_ ) and ordered him to help the rank-and-file search for wounded and trapped civilians throughout Hrym. Ever hopeful and fiery, she was; Lorenz knew his father would have written off anyone who wasn't out on the streets and visibly moving around as already dead, and focused on securing control over the territory.

_Then again his father didn't think very much of commoners at all did he-_

She'd given him no time to suggest she was being idealistic, that perhaps they should focus on interrogating the Varley troops who surrendered to Bernadetta over the movements of the Adrestian army; nope, she barely stood still long enough to give orders before shooting off again, calling for Lord Fraldarius and Lady Daphnel. She always scrambled to and fro on and off the battlefield; like she was running out of time. That swiftness of foot and keen observational skills had saved their lives many times before, though it often left Lorenz wondering where she got all that energy from, _how have you not run yourself ragged, worried yourself to death-?_

Not that he'd had time to dwell on that question. ( _A question that had lingered in his mind after months of being her student, watching her manage minute details in chaotic circumstances and somehow getting them out of increasingly ridiculous circumstances no worse for wear-_ ) He'd promptly been grabbed by Marianne and Ashe who'd dragged him off to the nearest conglomerate of allied soldiers, who were trying to make headway into a three story hotel that had collapsed in places _and_ caught fire. Marianne promptly began using Blizzard to quickly extinguish flames while Ashe charged right through the crumbling doorway, ducking beneath the smoke and crawling over stone and wood while calling into the structure. Lorenz had been stunned to hear someone answer that moments later, and tied back his hair before attempting to follow Ashe and provide what assistance he could.

The first thing that he really noticed was how little he could preform these tasks in comparison to Ashe. The young man, who'd once been a street rat before his adoption by Lord Lonato, repeatedly shimmied into spaces Lorenz swore a human being couldn't fit into, expertly cut through wood to widen crawlspaces without causing the debris to collapse and crush the hapless civilian trapped beneath it, and broke through melted door locks to reach the person within who'd collapsed from smoke inhilation in time to save them. Lorenz found himself able to do little but act as a glorified stretcher-bearer, ferrying whoever Ashe and the other soldiers freed back to Marianne and the bishops in hopes of saving their lives.

It was mortifying to realize how useless he was – how little he had been prepared for such tasks – when he found himself staring down at the victims of Maximus Varley's atrocity.

Elders with broken hips and collars, trapped in their rooms as their homes collapsed around them. Children hacking and coughing around the smoke in their lungs as Marianne scrambled to save their lives, impaled by spears or fire pokers to doorways as the building above them burned. Young women with bloody legs and thighs shrieking and cowering away from him when he approached, young men paralyzed in one limb or two after being trampled by horses. It was indiscriminate, it was visceral, and it was the largest scene of such devastation that he'd been made witness to.

“Hey Raph, over here! This door won't budge, I need your help!”

“Coming! Lornez, can you go help Ignatz? He's trying to get a basement door open but it's sticking, melt the locks for him!”

They switched up groups whenever the situations called for it. Which was often.

“Gloucester, do you know any healing magic?, I lost track of Atra a while back – no? Damn it, then flag down Yuri for me, he's at the south corner and I need a medic before this kid's lungs collapse on me!”

“Lord Gloucester, where's Lady Martinez, have you seen her? This woman's spine is broken and only the healing Crests will save her ability to walk-”

“There are more people over here, we need stretcher-bearers!”

“The fire's getting out of control! Please, someone get Sir Lian, only the river can douse them before it consumes the entire block-”

It became a blur at some point. A red-gray blur that smelled like rotting flesh and cinders. Lorenz lost any sense of time; his feet ached as he seemingly teleported from one disaster zone to the next, not knowing how he got there but following the yells for help and assistance. Soot and ash stained his coat and turned his gloves dark gray; he tore the left one at some point, cutting his hand on broken window glass. He hastily tied a handkerchief around it and kept going, an odd ringing in his ears beneath the shouting and general chaos around him.

“ _If you want to coddle your pets up north, be my guest._ ” Maximus Varley's words echoed in his ears, loud and commanding and spoken in the same tone that his father used when talking about taking leadership of Leicester. He spoke like it was a fact, with certainty of being born to rule, like no one had the right to question him or his wardship over the commons.

_We can't turn a profit without going to Deridru. I don't know what Count Gloucester is thinking._

“ _No!_ ” One woman had shrieked when she'd seen him. “No, _no._ I'm done with nobles, I'm done; no more psychopaths who think they own me, no more sneering dirty men who put a price on my life, don't _touch_ me! Don't touch me!”

A young deserter from Adrestia – Heather, her name was Heather, he'd heard Linhardt call her that – gave him an apologetic look. “I think I better handle this, Sir. You might want to get your hand looked at; if that gets infected, you're going to be feeling it for a while.” Without really waiting to see if he took her advice, she stepped in front of him and knelt down, speaking gently to the woman who was pressed against the city wall, blood dripping down her legs.

He didn't consciously choose to retreat; he only really noticed when he turned around and all but walked into Raphael's chest.

“Hey Lorenz! There you are,” The big blonde said in relief, his usual boisterous cheer nowhere to be seen. He must have stared blankly at him for a moment, because Raphael's expression bent a bit as he examined him. “You look pretty gray at the gills, friend. C'mon, you can step off the rotation for a while.”

Lorenz tried not to flinch when the bigger teenager put a hand on his shoulder, guiding him across the rubble-strewn streets and sat him down on a bench next to a tired-looking Atra. “Rest up, okay?” Raphael said with a worried look. “How are you holding up, Atra? You look like you haven't slept in three days.”

“I feel like it,” The Agarthan renegade rasped, giving him a faint smile in response after chugging the entire contents of a Pure Water in one go. “But I'm pretty sure it's half stress. I'll be alright, Raphael.”

“Good to hear that,” Raphael said graciously, his smile growing a little wider. “No sign of any soldiers from Shambhala; I guess old man Varley didn't want to work with people who might not listen to him.”

“People like him rarely do,” Atra responded somewhat dryly. “If you wouldn't mind, would you find Glenn and send him this way? He's done about as much as me, but he won't sit down to rest unless someone drags him away and sedates him.”

“Hahaha...! I'll find him, no worries. He, Felix and Dimitri are probably in the same place, so I'll be able to grab them as well.” With those words, Raphael trotted off and disappeared around the corner.

That was the point that Lorenz noticed that they weren't the only one in this 'rest area', for lack of a better word. Annette was straight-up asleep on a futon, being guarded by kingdom soldiers loyal to her uncle. A number of rank-and-file, who he didn't recognize and who's names he didn't know, were sitting in circles talking lowly to each other. Despite their victory, the mood of the area was extremely low.

At least it wasn't just him.

Atra said something he didn't hear; moments later, a tall glass of crystal-clear water was shoved under his nose. “Drink up,” She said, not unkindly but rather sternly – it made her sound like Professor Byleth. “Water's better for clearing the throat, and you might have breathed in smoke, dust or wood chippings. Drink all of it.”

Lorenz accepted it automatically, gulping it down fast enough to nearly gag. It was a cleanser on the throat, just as she said, but it made him very aware that he had breathed in – well, probably all of those things in the process of the evening. Night. Morning. He glanced up at the sky and saw the warm rose-golden hue of dawn beyond the spiraling stacks of smoke still rising from the city.

“He was no noble.”

He didn't notice he'd said that. But he did hear Atra snort in contempt.

“No, he was one. That's why he could do what he did.”

“No true noble would do this to his people,” Lorenz responded with a bit of heat.

The renegade favored him with a flat look. “He had the title. He had the rights. He had command of the army. He was the man with power, like you; whether he was just in spirit is completely irrelevant. He couldn't have done this if he wasn't one.” The undercurrent of anger in her voice was a tangible thing, causing his skin to prickle under its heat. “Where do you think the _entitlement_ came from? The belief that these people were _things_ that _belonged_ to him? How many times has a commoner brought a charge against a noble that was taken seriously, much less result in any meaningful punishment for that noble? How many, even in the Alliance – the only place such a notion is even entertained?”

Lorenz opened his mouth to respond-

_Yeah, it's no secret that old Gloucester wants to take leadership from the Alliance from gramps – I suspect that's at least part of the reason he lobbied so intensely against me being legitimized. The 'accident' that killed Raphael's parents and my uncle is only called that because no one could conclusively pin it on him._

-only to stop abruptly.

“Thales says we're the only true humans untainted by beast blood,” Atra said idly, rubbing one thumb along the inside of her wrist. “But sometimes I suspect that he doesn't really regard anyone outside his inner circle to really be 'human'; and that's why he doesn't hesitate to send children out to war. For all that he motions otherwise, he and the others are functionally nobility. Answerable to no one and in complete control of our lives.”

“...It couldn't have always been that terrible,” He half stated, half asked, staring down at his boots rather than looking at her. It was phenomenally rude, but he was almost afraid to look her in the eye. “Even robber baron's cruelty sleeps sometimes.”

Atra shrugged. “Maybe. I mean...I guess it makes sense that not all of the High Chancellors were as obsessed with the surface and consumed with the rhetoric that Thales is. Shambhala has existed for a thousand years, after all, and yet only made a few all-or-nothing attempts to take Foldan for themselves. ...But we're not told the real history, so I guess only Thales knows.”

She accepted another glass of water, the gray receding from her face. Lorenz gave it a few minutes before she got back to her feet and threw herself headfirst back into the relief efforts, proper recovery be damned. Hopefully she'd eventually trip over Mercedes and the lovely lady would guilt her into resting in the special manner that only she was capable of.

“Besides, exceptions just prove the rule, don't they?” She took a drink. “Of course, I'm a cynic. King Dimitri and Prince Claude and Glenn and his father still make my head spin for how deeply they care about the people 'beneath them'.”

“Prince Claude?” Lorenz repeated, either unable or unwilling to comment on the rest of what she said.

Atra blinked a few times, then shrugged and finished her water. “He carries himself like one, doesn't he? I don't know...it just sounds right.”

She grabbed a pure water off from the right and put it next to him. “Hey, how long has your hand been bleeding? Give it here.” Without waiting for permission, she grabbed his wrist and removed the makeshift bandage before casting Heal, closing the wound and dismissing the pain it caused. “I'm headed out again. Tell Glenn to stay put if Raphael brings him here, please.”

Lorenz watched her as she left, unhappiness twisting in his stomach; the world was tilting underneath his feet, and once it righted itself, would there still be a place in it for someone like him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find it ironic that very few of the noble students express any classism, even innocently; only Lorenz (and to a lesser extent Ferdinand) do. It's especially funny because Faerghus, which you'd think would have issues with this due to its favoring of knightly honor and chivlary, seemingly has no problem treating its commoner population with dignity and respect very much *unlike* the Empire. So that's pretty ironic considering Edelgard's speechifying. 
> 
> I have to admit, Lorenz is my least favorite Golden Deer and possibly my least favorite out of the students - yet surprisingly this little peek into his mind came very easily to me. I liked having him talk to Atra, who's extremely cynical of one person having unquestionable authority over many for obvious reasons; Dorothea's distaste for his classism is somewhat undermined by her searching for a rich husband to take care of her.


	16. Ignatz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignatz paints and ponders his place in things.

He knew it was late; his torches were starting to burn a little low. He was squinting a bit to judge which shade of paint he was using, but only a little, and he could still clearly see the image he had spent the last few hours working on. It was a smaller one; he could hardly lug the large canvases around when weapons and provisions took precedence, but he liked working with smaller frames well enough that it only hurt his heart a little.

Not for the first time, Ignatz pondered whether he should have taken Byleth's offer ( _borderline plea, really_ ) to stay behind at Garreg Mach and just wait the war out in relative safety. He was well aware he was neither the strongest nor the bravest out of the now-former students; comparing him to Felix ( _who seemed born ready for war_ ), Atra ( _she both fascinated and scared him...he wondered if he could talk her into letting him paint a portrait of her..._ ) Lysithea ( _she was so strong, so determined, so fearless..._ ) or Glenn ( _the only person he'd met who might be Byleth's equal with a sword)_ felt like a bad joke. He was smaller, slighter, he didn't have much in the way of muscle – he just had his good eyes, killer weapons that could compensate somewhat for his weaknesses by piercing through armor, and what determination he could bring to bear.

That didn't count for a whole lot in a war, did it?

Ingatz breathed out slowly, steadying his hand to paint a light line of shading in Byleth's now light green hair. The moment when she'd been transfigured in the Holy Tomb had been burned into his retina; he had a proper large painting of that scene back in the monastery, her rising from the throne with light pouring out of her and the fully awakened Sword of the Creator. Naturally he couldn't take it with him, however, so he resorted to a smaller portrait to draw up the saintly images of his beloved teacher.

He had more than a few planned for Claude and Dimitri as well; he was a little nervous to get started on any of them, though. Claude he felt confident he could surprise, but he thought that he should ask Dimitri for permission first.

Byleth had always told him to be kinder to himself, to not self-deprecate so much, and that he was an invaluable member of the Golden Deer. And...ultimately that had been the reason he chose to follow her to war, even though battle and killing was not the duty he had wished for.

No one in his life, except Raphael, had ever seen anything exceptional in him. His parents had sent him to become a knight in hopes of 'molding you into an admirable knight'; it was no secret that they preferred his older brother for having a sharper mind and bolder personality. He'd always melted into the background in his schooling, never showing as much talent as his older brother. He'd grown accustomed to it...and at some point he'd started agreeing with it.

_I'm not a career knight, this war is proving that much. The thought of conflict makes me ill, and I hate killing people. I don't have a great head for finance, and I'm not good at arguing with people or advocating for myself._

And yet Byleth never accepted that. She saw someone inside him that his parents didn't...that he often didn't, to be honest. Ever since the beginning, she'd encouraged him to get stronger and to chase after what he wanted, sometimes in the same breath – like she didn't see any contradiction between becoming a painter and following his parent's wishes to become a knight.

With that sort of confidence being placed in him...what else could Ignatz do but try to rise to meet it? Be everything she saw in him? Follow at her side no matter what nightmare she plunged into?

His mind flashed back to launching that golem across the length of Garreg Mach's front yard to the damaged gates. In the celebration after the Imperial army was successfully routed, he'd been lifted up onto a knight's shoulders and paraded around the courtyard twice; men and women chanted his names and plied him with congratulatory toasts until he'd passed out from overindulgence.

Now he was Sir Ignatz, Hawk-Eye. Ignatz wondered if _that_ title had trickled back to his hometown to the absolute polaxed bewilderment of his parents.

His wrist shivered a bit as he carefully traced his thin paintbrush along the curves of the Crest of Flames, which he depicted blazing around and behind Creator Sword's guard; grasped in one hand in front of Byleth's chest so it could be planted in the stone floor at her feet. He glanced at the book containing the picture of the Crest he was using for reference, hoping he was getting the intricacies right.

 _I wonder what Sothis said to her when she gave her those powers in the Holy Tomb,_ Ignatz thought in wonder. _What did she see in us that made her grant power for the first time since the days of Nemesis and Serios?_

He both wanted to ask Byleth yet simultaneously didn't dare intrude, even distantly, on her dialogue with the mother goddess. Ignatz was deeply faithful, though he didn't think himself worthy of being a priest; knowing his teacher could speak directly to the goddess was _humbling_ , to say the least... He was ashamed to admit that he'd acted very shy and deferential around Byleth for the first few days after the transformation, even distracted as he was by the war; it was only seeing her distress and her requests that he not change that allowed him to start acting normally around her again.

 _She hasn't really changed,_ Ignatz thought as he washed out the red-gold paint upon finally finishing the Crest of Flames image, the fresh paint drying against the black and white of her coat and shirt behind it. _She's still the same worrywart sword master who turned me into a real knight, a man of pride. Maybe I'm thinking about this all wrong; maybe I am exactly where I should be._

He started to mix together yellow and white to get a color akin to the shimmering light gold that surrounded the fully awakened Creator's Sword, when there was a knock on the door. “Ah, yes?” He asked, startled. _Has something happened?,_ he wondered as he scrambled up and made his way to the door. _I don't hear anyone running or calling in alarm._

Twisting the handle, he opened his door and nearly gasped when he found himself face-to-face with Flayn, who was dressed in a heavy nightgown with a long shawl thrown over it. There was a slight darkness under her eyes, and her hair was rumpled; like she'd woken from a bad nightmare. “Hello, Ignatz,” She said quietly, her voice a little tremulous. “Is it alright if I come in?”

For a second, Ignatz's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth; he knew he was blushing terribly as he stared back at her, scrambling for a response and resisting the urge to nervously glance down the hallway in case Seteth appeared in her wake. “Sure,” He said automatically when he found his voice; his heart nearly jumped up into his throat, and then could have burst when Flayn smiled thankfully at him.

She had a really beautiful smile.

“Thank you,” She stepped into the room without a care, not even seeming to notice that he'd changed into his evening wear himself; her attention quickly clapped onto the painting in progress and gasped lightly. “Oh! Is that a new project?”

“Not really,” He said with the same stunned confusion he'd invited her in with, his feet still rooted to the floor of his doorway. “There's a much larger canvas I was working on in the monastery, but I have to leave it unfinished for the time being. I didn't what to loose the image I had in my head, however, so I did bring this.” He let out a weak laugh, finally unfreezing enough to close the door behind him. “I know it's not terribly sensible of me to be bringing paints to a battlefield...”

“Oh no, I think it's a wonderful idea,” Flayn interrupted, putting her hands on the back of his chair to admire his work. “I'm glad to have light and color following us even as we enter greater danger...I think it's quite comforting.”

“I...I'm glad you think so. I've been worrying on and off that it was a bit of selfish indulgence,” Ignatz went back and sat in his seat, while Flayn leaned over his head.

“The drawing is from the holy tomb, isn't it?” She asked.

“Yeah. It stuck so deeply in my memory, I felt the need to commit it to paint.”

“It's beautiful so far...it looks just like her.” Flayn said in awe. Ignatz felt his cheeks grow even hotter as he grabbed his paintbrush again; “Have you thought about painting anyone else?”

“It's been on my mind, if they're willing,” Ignatz responded, examining the shade of gold he'd created for a moment before cautiously stirring his brush in it. “I hope I can capture each moment of these events from memory, create a mural of the war – the glory and the horror. So those who come after us can look into these moments...see and feel all of what really happened.”

“That's a wonderful idea.” Flayn responded, clapping her hands together. She beamed at him; his heart did a now-familiar backflip and he focused carefully on ensuring his hand didn't shake as he started painting the light of the Creator's Sword. “I can paint a little bit; my mother taught me too. It was a long time ago, unfortunately...I'm afraid I've not much practiced. What might I be able to do to help?”

“You already help me,” Ignatz admitted before he could think the better of it. “You're my muse.”

“I am?” Flayn responded excitedly. “I am so happy to hear that!”

“Ahaha...is that right? I'm glad...”

“Is it alright if I stay here while you work?” Flayn asked. “I won't talk if that distracts you.”

Ignatz drew a long swirl of gold before glancing back at her. “I don't mind, no. ...Is everything alright, Flayn? You...look a little ill.”

She blinked at him; briefly a distant look crossed her face, drowning in a memory that troubled her heart. Giving her head a faint shake, she quietly said, “I...have trouble sleeping. Sometimes I have the most terrible nightmares... I woke up from one, and I don't want to trouble my f-brother, but...I didn't want to be alone, either.” Her voice lowered. “I'm terribly afraid of being alone...”

Ignatz paused his painting, set his brush down and leaned over to grasp her hand reassuringly. “I've had some nightmares myself,” He confessed. “I'd be glad to have you here for a while, Flayn. I'm glad to see you smile.”

“R-Really?”

“Yeah.” His heart threatening to give out on him, Ignatz quickly returned to his work. “Might you give me some advice while I'm working? Just, tell me what you think of the shading as I add it.”

“Of course!” Flayn said with cheer.

 _There it is,_ Ignatz thought but didn't say as he watched her out of the corner of his eye. _A reason to fight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but sweet; I like Ignatz's relationship with Flayn in particular because of how cute their support chain is. This occurs before the ambush on the Bridge of Myrddin; plus I thought it would be fun to give the kids cool nicknames based on their accomplishments. Hawk-Eye Ignatz, anyone?


End file.
